ii 


} 


LIBRARY 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA. 


OR1 


Mrs.  SARAH  P.  WALS  WORTH. 

Received  October,  1894. 
Accessions  No  .  *)%  /  (  %,  .      Class  No. 


LIFE 


or 


WILLIAM   W  I  B,  T. 


V 


MEMOIRS 


OF 


THE   LIFE 


OF 


WILLIAM    W  I  E  T, 


ATTORNEY-GENERAL  OF  THE  UNITED  STATES. 


JOHN   P.  KENNEDY. 


A   NEW  AND    REVISED    EDITION 


IN    TWO    VOLUMES. 
VOL.     I. 


PHILADELPHIA: 
BLANCHARD    AND    LEA 

1854. 


Entered,  according  to  the  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  jear  1849,  by 

LEA    &    BLANCHARD. 

in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States,  for  the 
Eastern  District  of  Pennsylvania. 


STEREOTYPED     BY    J.    PAGAN. 

PRINTED     BY    T.     K.     AND     P.    G.     COLLINS 

(4) 


TO  THE 


YOUNG  MEN  OF  THE  UNITED  STATES, 


WHO     SEEK     FOR     GUIDANCE     TO     AN     HONOURABLE     FAME, 


ARE  RESPECTFULLY  INSCRIBED 

BT 

THE   AUTHOR 
BALTIMORE,  April  12,  1849. 

(v) 


PREFACE  TO  THE  NEW  EDITION. 


THE  rapid  sale  of  the  first  edition  of  these  Memoirs  brings 
a  very  agreeable  testimony  to  the  appreciation  which  the 
public  has  made  of  the  character  of  him  whose  life  I  have 
attempted  to  illustrate. 

• 

In  the  preparation  of  the  present  edition,  I  have  found 
necessity  and  opportunity  for  a  revision  of  my  work,  which 
has  enabled  me  to  make  some  emendations ;  to  correct  some 
errors,  both  of  the  printer  and  my  own ;  and  now  to  offer  it 
to  the  public  in  a  condition,  I  hope,  more  worthy  of  that 
kind  reception  it  has  already  met  with. 

J.  P.  KENNEDY. 

BALTIMORE,  December,  1849. 


. 


CONTENTS, 

VOL.  I. 


INTRODUCTION  ...............................................  13 


CHAPTER  I. 

Parentage  of  William  Wirt.—  His  Birth.—  Will  of  Jacob  Wirt—  Patri 
mony.  —  Autobiographical  Memoir  of  Ten  Years.  —  Bladensburg.  —  The 
Schoolmaster.  —  Mother  and  Aunt.  —  A  Thunderstorm.  —  Old  Inhabitants  of 
Bladensburg.  —  The  Dancing-Master.  —  A  Ghost  Story.  —  Performance  on  the 
Slack  Wire.  —  Lee's  Legion.^The  Young  Drummer.  —  Mr.  Rogers'  School 
in  Georgetown.  —  Mrs.  Schoolfield.  —  Mrs.  Love  and  her  Family.  —  Rural 
Life  and  its  Images.  —  Mr.  Dent's  School.  Charles  County.  —  Alexander 
Campbell.  —  The  Peace.  —  Day  Dreams.  —  Colonel  Lee.  —  Mr.  Hunt's  School 
in  Montgomery.  —  Early  Acquaintances.  —  Music.  —  A  Fox  Hunt  .....  15 


CHAPTER  II. 

Imaginative  Temperament.  —  His  Studies.  —  Wholesome  Influence  of  Mr 
Hunt.  —  His  Library.  —  Sketches  by  Cruse.  —  Verse  Making.  —  First  Lite 
rary  Effort,  a  Prose  Satire  on  the  Usher.  —  Its  Consequences.  —  A  School 
Incident.  —  A  Victory.  —  Visit  to  the  Court-House  of  Montgomery.  —  Mr. 
Dorsey.—  The  Moot  Court.  —  Its  Constitution.—  School  Exercises  .....  41 

(Vii) 


Vlii  CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  III. 

Friends. — Peter  A.  Carnes. — Benjamin  Edwards. — Ninian  Edwards. — 
Becomes  a  Tutor  in  Mr.  Edwards'  Family. — Useful  Employment  of  his 
Time.  —  Studies.  —  Journey  to  Georgia.  •— Returns  to  Montgomery  and 
Studies  Law  with  W.  P.  Hunt. — Removoa  to  Vjrginia.-^Studies  with  Mr. 
Swann. — Is  admitted  to  Practice  by  the  Culpeper  Court 49 


CHAPTER  IV. 

His  Library. — First  Case. — Difficulties  attending  it. — Is  assisted  by  a 
Friend. — A  Triumph. — His  Companionable  Qualities. — Habits  of  Desul 
tory  Study. — Practises  in  Albemarle 57 


CHAPTER  V. 

Albemarle  Friends. — Dr.  Gilmer. — Mr.  Jefferson,  Mr.  Madison,  and  Mr. 
Monroe. —  James  Barbour.  —  Marries  Mildred  Gilmer.  —  Pen  Park.  —  Dr. 
Gilmer's  Library.— Hospitality  of  the  Country. — Dangers  to  which  he  was 
exposed. — Character  of  the  Bar. — His  Popularity  and  Free  Habits. — Fran 
cis  Walker  Gilmer. — Thomas  W.  Gilmer,  late  Secretary  of  the  Navy. — 
Dabney  Carr  and  his  Family. — Anecdote  of  Barbour,  Carr,  and  Wirt. — 
State  of  Flu.— Death  of  Dr.  Gilmer.— Rose  Hill.— Letter  to  Carr. .  .  63 


CHAPTER  VI. 

Happy  Life  at  Pen  Park.— Misfortune.— Death  of  his  Wife.— Religious 
Impressions. — Determines  to  remove  to  Richmond. — Elected  Clerk  to  the 
House  of  Delegates. — New  Acquaintances. — Patrick  Henry. — Resolutions 
of  Ninety-Eight. — Re-elected  Clerk  at  two  succeeding  Sessions. — Tempt 
ations  to  Free  Living. — Trial  of  Callender  for  a  Libel  under  the  Sedition 
Law. — Wirt,  Hay  and  Nicholas  defend  him. — Course  of  the  Trial. — A 
Singular  Incident.  —  Judge  Chase.  —  Nullification.  —  Fourth  of  July  Ora 
tion. — Embarrassed  Elocution . . .  t 73 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

Elected  to  the  post  of  Chancellor.— Value  of  this  Appointment— Rea 
sons  for  Accepting  it.  —  Col.  Robert  Gamble.  —  Courtship.— A  Theatrical 
Incident.  —  Second  Marriage.  —  Removes  to  Williamsburg.  —  Letters  to 
Carr. — Resigns  the  Chancellorship  and  determines  to  go  to  Norfolk. .  86 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

Commences  Practice  in  Norfolk.  —  Professional  Success.  —  Letter  to 
pope.  —  Comments  on  the  Parsimony  of  Judicial  Salaries.  —  Birth  of  his 
Eldest  Child. — Religious  Sentiments. — Trial  of  Shannon. — Singular  Case 
of  Circumstantial  Evidence. — Removes  his  Residence  to  Norfolk ....  98 


CHAPTER  IX. 

The  British  Spy.  —  Enemies  made  by  it.  —  Letters  to  Carr,  with  some 
Anecdotes  connected  with  the  Publication  of  the  Spy.  —  His  Opinion  of 
that  Work..  .  105 


CHAPTER  X. 

Success  at  Norfolk. — Project  of  a  Biographical  Work. — Patrick  Henry. — 
St.  George  Tucker.— Letter  to  this  Gentleman.— The  RaTnbow.^Lettei 
to  Edwards .117 


CHAPTER  XI. 

Increasing  Reputation. — Dislike  of  Criminal  Trials. — Meditates  a  Re 
turn  to  Richmond. — An  Old-Fashioned  Wedding  at  Williamsburg. — Let 
ters.— A  Distaste  for  Political  Life. .  .  131 


CHAPTER  XII. 

Removes  to  Richmond. — A  Professional  Case  of  Conscience. — Defence 
of  Swinney. — Chancellor  Wythe. — Judge  Cabell. — Letter  to  Mrs.  W.  on 
Swinney's  Case. — Fondness  for  Music. — Letter  to  F.  W.  Gilmer. — Recol 
lections  of  Pen  Park. .  .  140 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

Aaron  Burr  brought  to  Richmond.  —  Indicted  for  Treason. — Wirt  re 
tained  as  Counsel  by  the  Government The  Trial.  —  Some  of  its  Inci 
dents.— The  Asperity  of  Counsel.— Extracts  of  the  Argument 149 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

Burr's  Trial  Continued.  —  The  Principal  Argument  in  the  Case. — 
Notices  of  Wirt's  Share  in  it.  —  Mr.  Mercer's  Testimony. —  His  Descrip 
tion  of  Blennerhasset's  Residence. — Other  Incidents  of  the  Trial. . . .  165 


CHAPTER  XV. 

Public  Agitation. — The  Affair  of  the  Leopard  and  Chesapeake. — Expec 
tation  of  War.  —  Fourth  of  July.  —  Letter  to  Judge  Tucker Wirt  Pro 
jects  the  Raising  of  a  Legion.  —  Correspondence  with  Carr  in  regard  to 
it. — The  Project  meets  Opposition. — Finally  Abandoned. — War  Arrested. — 
The  Embargo 190 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

Increasing  Reputation. — Mr.  Jefferson  Proposes  to  him  to  go  into  Con 
gress. — He  Declines. — Determines  to  Adhere  to  his  Profession. — He  De 
fends  Mr.  Madison  Against  the  Protest.  —  Letters  of  "  One  of  the  Peo 
ple." —  Unexpectedly  put  in  Nomination  for  the  Legislature.  —  Letter  to 
Mrs.  W.  on  this  Event. — His  Repugnance  to  it. — Is  Elected — Correspon 
dence  with  Mr.  Monroe. — Letters  to  Carr  and  Edwards 207 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

His  Service  in  the  Legislature. — Preference  for  Private  Life. — Lettera 
to  Edwards.  —  Literary  Dreams. — Acrimony  of  Party  Politics.  —  Educa 
tion. — Misgivings  in  regard  to  the  Government 235 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

Resumes  the  purpose  of  Writing  the  Biography  of  Patrick  Henry. — 
Consults  Mr.  Jefferson  on  this  Subject. — Letters  to  Carr. — New  England 
Oratory.  —  The  Sentinel.  —  Letter  to  B.  Edwards.  —  Death  of  Col.  Gam 
ble.— The  Old  Bachelor.— Letters  Concerning  it 248 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

The  Old  Bachelor.  —  Contributors  to  it.  —  Character  of  the  Work.  — 
Amusing  Correspondence  between  Wirt  and  Carr  in  Reference  to  it. — 
Carr's  Promotion  to  the  Bench. — The  post  of  Attorney-General  vacant. — 
Wirt  spoken  of. — His  Thoughts  upon  it. — Letter  to  his  Daughter. — Em 
ployed  by  Mr.  Jefferson  in  the  Batture  Case. — Correspondence  with  Mr.  J. 
in  reference  to  Duane. — Mr.  Madison  and  Mr.  Gallatin 265 


CHAPTER  XX. 

The  War. — Its  Excitements. — Wirt  Declines  a  Commission  in  the 
Army. — Volunteer  Soldiery. — Life  of  Henry. — Burning  of  the  Richmond 
Theatre. — Governor  Smith. — Carr  Appointed  Chancellor,  and  Removes  to 
Winchester. — Letters  to  him. — W.  attempts  to  write  a  Comedy.  —  Judge 
Tucker's  Opinion  of  the  Influence  of  such  Literature  on  Professional  Cha 
racter. — Difficulty  of  Comedy. — Professional  Dignity. — Richmond  Bar. — 
Anecdote  of  a  Trial  between  Wickham  and  Hay. — Epigram. — Warden. — 
Letter  to  Carr. — Tired  of  the  Old  Bachelor.  —  Biography.  —  Letter  from 
Judge  Tucker  on  this  Subject. — Incidents  of  the  War. — British  ascend  to 
City  Point. — Wirt  Raises  a  Corps  of  Flying  Artillery.  —  Letter  to  Mrs. 
W. — To  Dabney  Carr. — Gilmer,  a  Student  of  Law. — Letter  of  Advice  to 
him .297 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

Contentment.  —  Prosperous  Condition.  —  Letters  to  Carr.  —  To  Mr.  Lo- 
max. — Opinion  of  Cicero. — Views  of  the  War. — Extravagant  Opinions. — 
Letter  to  Gilmer. — Campaigning. — Insubordination  of  the  Militia. — Visit 
to  Washington. — Congress. — Unfavourable  Aspect  of  Affairs. — Madison. — 
Webster. — Aversion  to  Public  Life. — Engagement  in  the  Supreme  Court. — 
Postponed 325 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

Visits  Washington  to  Attend  the  Court. — Returns. — Peace  Restored  by 
the  Treaty  of  Ghent.  —  Letter  to  Gilmer.  —  Resumes  the  Biography  of 
Henry. — Difficulties  of  this  Work. — Scantiness  of  Material. — The  Author 
weary  of  it. — Letter  to  Carr  on  the  Subject. — Dabney  Carr  the  Elder. — 
The  Origin  of  the  Continental  Congress. — Peter  Carr. — Letters  to  Carr 
and  Gilmer. — George  Hay  Resigns  the  Post  of  District  Attorney. — Wirt 
Recommends  Upshur  to  the  President. — Moderation  of  Political  Feeling. — 
Mr.  Madison  Appoints  Wirt  to  the  Office. — Correspondence  in  Reference 
to  this  Appointment. — Makes  his  Debut  in  the  Supreme  Court. — Encount 
ers  Pinkney. — His  Opinion  of  Pinkney. — Letter  to  Gilmer. — Letter  to  Carr 
on  "  The  Path  of  Pleasure,"  and  his  Opinion  of  this  Dramatic  Attempt. — 
Correspondence  with  Mr.  Jefferson  on  the  Subject  of  the  Biography. — Let 
ter  to  Richard  Morris. .  .  341 


INTRODUCTION. 


A  NARRATIVE  of  the  life  of  WILLIAM  WIRT  will  present  us  the 
career  of  one  who,  springing  from  an  humble  origin,  was  enabled  to 
attain  to  high  distinction  amongst  his  countrymen.  Whether  the 
incidents  of  that  career  are  sufficiently  striking  to  communicate  any 
high  degree  of  interest  to  his  biography,  the  reader  will  determine 
for  himself  in  the  perusal  of  these  pages.  Mr.  Wirt's  life  was,  in 
great  part,  that  of  a  student.  His  youthful  days  were  passed  in 
preparation  for  his  profession.  His  manhood  was  engrossed  by 
forensic  labours.  Old  age  found  him  crowned  with  the  honours  of  a 
faithfully  earned  juridical  renown. 

His  social  life  was  one  of  great  delight  to  his  friends.  It  was 
embellished  with  all  the  graces  which  a  benevolent  heart,  a  playful 
temper  and  a  happy  facility  of  discourse  were  able  to  impart.  With 
mankind,  beyond  the  circle  of  his  personal  friends,  he  had  no  great 
acquaintance.  He  was  not  much  of  a  traveller.  Occasionally 
touching  upon  the  confines  of  political  life,  he  was,  nevertheless,  but 
scantily  entitled  to  be  called  a  statesman.  For  twelve  years  Attorney 
General  of  the  United  States,  and  consequently  a  member  of  the 
Cabinet  through  three  Presidential  terms,  his  participation  in  govern 
ment  affairs  went  very  little  beyond  the  professional  duties  of  his 
office.  He  had  a  strong  talent  and,  with  it,  an  eager  inclination  for 
literary  enterprise.  To  indulge  these  was  the  most  ardent  wish  of 
his  mind ;  but  the  pressure  of  his  circumstances  kept  him  under  a 

VOL.  L  — 2  (13) 


14  INTRODUCTION. 

continual  interdict.  What  he  has  given  to  the  world,  therefore,  in 
this  kind,  is  small  in  amount,  and  given  under  conditions  that  should 
almost  disarm  criticism.  The  few  works  which  he  has  left  behind, 
however  will  be  found  to  merit,  as  in  his  lifetime  they  received,  the 
praise  due  to  the  productions  of  an  instructive  and  pleasant  writer. 

A  life  confined  to  the  pursuits  indicated  in  this  sketch,  may  not  be 
expected  to  charm  the  reader  by  the  significance  of  its  events.  It  is 
much  more  a  life  of  reflection  than  of  action ;  more  a  life  of  character 
ithan  of  incident.  I  have  to  present  to  the  world  a  man  greatly 
beloved  for  his  social  virtues,  the  illustrations  of  which  are  daily 
fading  away  with  the  fading  memories  of  contemporary  friends,  now 
reduced  to  a  few  survivors :  a  man  of  letters  and  strong  literary 
ambition,  but  who  had  not  the  leisure  to  gratify  a  taste  in  the  indul 
gence  of  which  he  might  have  attained  to  high  renown :  a  public 
functionary,  who  had  no  relish  for  politics,  and  who  was,  consequently, 
but  little  identified  with  that  public  history  which  so  often  imparts 
the  only  value  to  biography :  a  lawyer  who,  with  a  full  measure  of 
contemporary  fame,  has  left  but  little  on  record  by  which  the  justice 
of  that  fame  might  be  estimated. 

These  are  the  chief  impediments  to  the  success  of  the  task  I  have 
assumed.  Yet  I  do  not  doubt  that,  from  the  material  at  my  disposal, 
I  shall  be  able  to  furnish  an  agreeable  image  of  a  man  whose  char 
acter  will  win  the  affections  of  the  generation  which  succeeds  him,  as 
it  did  of  those  amongst  whom  he  lived. 


LIFE  OF  WILLIAM  WIRT. 


CHAPTER  I. 
1772—1783. 

PARENTAGE  OF  WILLIAM  WIRT. — HIS  BIRTH. — WILL  OP  JACOB 
WIRT.  —  PATRIMONY.  —  AUTOBIOGRAPHICAL  MEMOIR  OF  TEN 
YEARS. — BLADENSBURG. — THE  SCHOOLMASTER. — MOTHER  AND 
AUNT. — A  THUNDERSTORM.  —  OLD  INHABITANTS  OF  BLADENS 
BURG. — THE  DANCING  MASTER. — A  GHOST  STORY. — PERFORM' 
ANCE  ON  THE  SLACK  WIRE.  —  LEEJS  LEGION.  —  THE  YOUNG 
DRUMMER.  —  MR.  ROGERS*  SCHOOL  IN  GEORGETOWN.  —  MRS. 

SCHOOLFIELD. MRS.    LOVE   AND    HER   FAMILY. RURAL   LIFE 

AND   ITS   IMAGES. MR.    DENT'S     SCHOOL,    CHARLES     COUNTY.— 

ALEXANDER  CAMPBELL. THE  PEACE. DAY  DREAMS. — COLONEI* 

LEE.  —  MR.     HUNT'S     SCHOOL     IN     MONTGOMERY. EARLY    AC 
QUAINTANCES. — MUSIC. — A  FOX   HUNT. 

THOSE  who  best  remember  William  Wirt,  need  not  be  reminded 
how  distinctively  his  face  and  figure  suggested  his  connection  with  the 
German  race.  The  massive  and  bold  outline  of  his  countenance,  the 
clear,  kind,  blue  eye,  the  light  hair  falling  in  crisp  and  numerous 
curls  upon  a  broad  forehead,  the  high  arching  eyebrow,  the  large  nose 
and  ample  chin,  might  recall  a  resemblance  to  the  portrait  of  Goethe. 
His  height  rather  above  six  feet,  his  broad  shoulders,  capacious  chest 
and  general  fullness  of  development,  were  equally  characteristic  of 
his  Teutonic  origin.  The  ever-changing  expression  of  his  eye  and 
lip,  at  one  moment  sobered  with  deep  thought,  and  in  the  next 
radiant  with  a  rich,  lurking,  quiet  humour  that  might  be  seen  coming 
up  from  the  depths  of  his  heart  and  provoking  a  laugh  before  a  word 
was  said — these  were  traits  which  enlivened  whatever  might  be  sup 
posed  to  be  saturnine  in  the  merely  national  cast  of  his  features. 

(15) 


16  PARENTAGE  AND  BIRTH.  [1772—1783. 

His  father,  Jacob  Wirt,  was  from  Switzerland:*  his  mother, 
Henrietta,  was  a  German.  Jacob,  with  his  brother  Jasper  Wirt,  had 
settled  in  Bladensburg,  in  Maryland,  some  years  before  the  war  of 
the  Revolution.  Jacob  had  six  children,  three  sons  and  three 
daughters,  of  whom  William  was  the  youngest.  He  had  gathered 
some  little  property  in  Bladensburg,  and  supported  his  family  there 
chiefly  by  keeping  a  tavern,  the  avails  of  which,  together  with  some 
small  rents  accruing  from  a  few  lots  in  the  village,  enabled  him,  in 
an  humble  way,  to  maintain  a  comfortable  household. 

William  was  born  on  the  8th  of  November,  in  the  year  1772.  In 
less  than  two  years  after  this  date,  Jacob  Wirt  died,  leaving  a  small 
heritage  to  be  divided  between  his  wife  and  children.  His  will,  which 
is  on  record  in  Prince  George's  county,  assigns  to  his  wife  Henrietta 
"  one  half  lot  of  ground  in  Bladensburg,  No.  5,  on  which  the  billiard 
room  is  built,  and  on  which  I  am  now  building  a  new  house."  After 
her  death  this  lot  was  to  "  be  appraised  and  to  descend  to  my  eldest 
son,  Jacob  Wirt,  provided  he  pay  out  of  the  appraised  value  of  said 
house  and  half  lot,  to  each  of  my  other  children,  one  equal  part, 
share  and  share  alike,  to  wit :  to  my  daughters  Elizabeth,  Catharine 
and  Henrietta,  and  my  son  Uriah-Jasper  and  William, — to  each  and 
every  of  which  I  give  and  bequeath  one  equal  part  of  the  appraised 
value  of  the  above  premises."  The  will  mentions,  besides  this 
property,  "the  brick  store  in  Bladensburg/'  rented  at  twenty-five 
pounds  sterling  per  annum  to  Cunningham  and  Co.; — and  "my 
tavern  in  which  I  now  reside,  with  the  back  buildings,  stables  and 
lot,  also  the  counting  house  before  the  tavern  door  and  the  smith 
shop."  We  have  also  a  reference  to  two  lots  of  ground  in  "  Hamburg 
near  Georgetown,"  and  some  personal  estate. 

This  is  a  summary  of  all  the  worldly  goods  which  Jacob  Wirt,  in 
the  year  1774,  left  to  be  divided  between  his  wife  and  six  children. 
Henrietta  Wirt,  the  mother  of  the  family,  died  before  William  attained 
his  eighth  year.  How  much  of  the  property  we  have  enumerated 
remained  in  the  family  at  that  period,  we  have  no  means  of  knowing. 
The  whole  value  of  these  Bladensburg  and  Hamburg  lots,  we  may 

*  The  name  of  Wirt  or  Wirth  is  familiar  to  the  annals  of  Switzerland. 
The  reader  conversant  with  the  history  of  the  Reformation,  will  remember 
the  unhappy  fate  of  Adarn  Wirth,  the  deputy  bailiff  of  Stammheim,  and  his 
two  sons,  John  and  Adrian,  at  Baden  in  1524. 


CHAT.  I.]  PATRIMONY.— AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  17 

conjecture,  amounted  to  no  great  sum, — perhaps  not  more  than  three 
or  four  thousand  dollars.  Divided,  it  afforded  but  small  provision  for 
each  of  the  children. 

It  is  probable  that  William  was  born  in  the  little  hotel  of  the  vil 
lage,  mentioned  in  the  will ;  and  as  this  building  is  directed  to  be 
rented  out,  we  may  suppose  that  the  family  moved,  after  the  death  of 
Jacob  Wirt,  to  the  "new  house"  on  lot  No.  5.  I  have,  in  vain, 
endeavoured  to  ascertain  in  the  village,  from  its  present  inhabitants, 
the  truth  of  these  conjectures,  or  to  identify  either  of  the  houses 
referred  to. 

There  are  but  few  memorials  of  the  family  left.  Humble  labour 
with  its  lowly  roof  and  frugal  board  may  find  a  happy  fireside,  but  it 
has  few  chroniclers.  What  is  accessible  to  us  of  the  history  of  that 
fireside,  in  whose  rays  the  infancy  of  William  Wirt  found  a  cheerful 
and  healthy  light,  we  owe  chiefly,  almost  wholly,  to  a  pleasant  and 
playful  memoir  which  the  subject  of  it,  then  Attorney  General  of  the 
United  States,  wrote  at  the  request  of  his  children,  in  1825,  to  amuse 
them  with  recollections  which,  it  is  easy  to  discern,  still  more  delighted 
himself. 

This  little  fragment  of  autobiography  runs  over  the  first  ten  years 
of  the  author's  childhood.  It  is  a  homely,  warm-hearted  remembrance 
of  a  simple  time,  sketched,  with  a  lively  pencil,  by  one  who  never 
lost  sight  in  the  zenith  of  a  brilliant  fame  of  his  obligations  to  those 
who  watched  his  first  steps  and  protected  his  earliest  infancy. 

I  shall  extract  from  these  reminiscences  what  I  find  useful  to  my 
present  purpose,  without  venturing  to  submit  the  whole  to  the  eye 
of  the  public.  They  dwell  upon  incidents  which,  however  grateful 
in  the  telling  to  that  affectionate  circle  to  whom  the  memoir  was. 
addressed,  and  who  could  find  in  it  a  thousand  memories  of  family 
endearment,  would,  I  am  fearful,  be  considered  sometimes  too  trivia) 
to  excite  the  interest  of  those  who  are  strangers  to  the  genial  spirit 
and  household  mirthfulness  of  the  writer.  Even  for  the  extracts 
which  I  may  submit,  I  must  deprecate,  on  this  score,  the  too  rigid 
criticism  or  fastidious  comment  of  my  reader,  —  asking  him  to  re 
member  that  a  father,  discoursing  to  his  children  assembled  around 
their  own  hearth,  on  topics  which  derive  their  agreeable  savour  from 
their  love  to  him,  may  claim  a  dramatic  privilege  from  the  critic,  to 
2*  B 


18  BLADENSBURG.  [1772—1783. 

have  his  performance  judged  by  its  adaptation  to  the  scene,  the  time, 
the  place  and  the  persons. 

With  this  endeavour  to  forestall  the  judgment  of  the  reader, — 
indeed  to  bespeak  his  good  nature — towards  what  it  is  proposed  to 
disclose  of  the  memoir,  I  would  remark,  by  way  of  comment  on  the 
greater  portion  of  these  extracts,  that  Mr.  Wirt's  character  was,  to 
the  latest  period  of  his  life,  singularly  impressed  by  the  vivacity  of 
his  imagination.  He  was  greatly  sensitive  to  the  influence  which 
this  predominance  of  the  ideal  had  in  shaping  his  career,  and  has 
endeavoured  in  the  memoir,  to  trace  the  source  of  some  distinctive 
currents  of  his  life  to  the  impressions  made  upon  his  imagination  in 
childhood.  Every  one  has  felt  these  influences  in  greater  or  less 
degree,  and  most  persons  may  be  able  to  find  in  their  own  history 
some  particular  complexion  of  mind  or  form  of  habit  and  opinion 
traceable  to  such  causes.  In  Mr.  Wirt  the  effect  of  such  influences 
was  visible,  in  a  very  striking  degree,  to  his  friends.  This  may,  per 
haps,  appear  also  to  the  reader  in  the  course  of  this  biography. 

Bladensburg  has  been,  for  many  years  past,  a  quiet, — I  may  even 
say,  without  meaning  unfriendly  disparagement — a  drowsy  and  stag 
nant  little  village,  well  known  by  its  position  on  the  wayside  of  a 
great  thoroughfare  to  the  national  metropolis,  from  which  it  is  but  a 
few  miles  distant.  It  is  somewhat  famous  in  our  annals,  not  only  as 
a  neutral  ground  where  many  a  personal  combat  has  decided  what  the 
world  has  chosen  to  call  a  point  of  honour,  but  also  as  the  field  where 
higher  questions  were  put  to  mortal  arbitrement,  when  the  British 
army,  in  1814,  disputed  with  an  American  host  for  the  possession  of 
the  capital.  For  many  years  past,  —  from  a  date  before  the  com 
mencement  of  the  present  century, — this  village  has  been  not  only 
stationary  in  its  growth,  but  even  falling  gradually  away  under  the 
touch  of  time.  During  a  great  portion  of  this  period,  it  was  enlivened 
by  the  daily  transit  of  some  half  dozen  or  more  mail  coaches,  plying 
through  to  and  from  the  capital  of  the  United  States.  Twice  a  day 
the  silence  which  brooded  over  its  streets  was  broken  by  the  blowing 
of  horns,  the  clamour  of  stable-boys  hurrying  with  fresh  relays  of 
horses  to  the  doors  of  rival  stage  houses,  and  by  the  rattle  of  rapidly 
arriving  and  departing  coaches.  But  even  these  transient  glories 
have  vanished.  The  rail-road,  which  touches  only  on  the  border  of 


CHAP.  I.}  THE   SCHOOLMASTER.  19 

the  village,  has  now  displaced  the  old  stage-coach,  and  the  village 
slumbers  are  no  longer  broken. 

Previous  to  the  Revolutionary  war  this  village  had  a  different  for 
tune.  It  was  then  a  thrifty,  business-driving,  little  sea-port,  profitably 
devoted  to  the  tobacco  trade,  of  which  it  constituted,  at  that  day,  quite 
an  important  mart.  It  was  inhabited  by  some  wealthy  factors  who 
had  planted  themselves  there  in  connection  with  transatlantic  houses, 
and  whose  mode  of  living,  both  in  the  character  of  their  dwellings 
and  in  the  matter  of  personal  display,  communicated  a  certain  show 
of  opulence  to  the  town. 

Whilst  it  was  yet  in  its  nourishing  era,  William  Wirt  was  one  of 
the  children  most  familiar  to  its  firesides — a  lively,  shrewd,  pleasant- 
tempered  and  beautiful  boy,  upon  whom  many  eyes  were  turned  in 
kindly  regard,  though  with  little  foresight,  perhaps,  of  that  rising 
fortune  to  which  he  was  destined. 

Touching  these  days  he  shall  now  speak  for  himself. 

His  reminiscences  begin  at  some  three  or  four  years  of  age,  when 
he  was  first  sent  to  school.  It  does  not  often  fail  that  our  strongest 
recollection  of  infancy  goes  back  to  the  schoolmaster,  —  that  high 
authority  whose  lineaments  are  indelibly  stamped  upon  the  memory 
of  childhood.  Who  does  not  remember  the  awe  and  reverence  with 
which  his  young  imagination  invested  the  pedagogue  beneath  whose 
sceptre  he  was  first  taught  to  bow  ?  To  the  child  who,  yet  callow, 
looks  tremblingly  upon  all  beyond  the  roof-tree,  the  image  of  the 
schoolmaster  is  the  embodiment  of  all  power  and  all  knowledge — 
teacher,  sage,  seer,  magician.  The  trace  he  leaves  of  his  form  and 
face,  his  gait,  his  voice,  his  vestments,  his  uprising  and  down-sitting, 
incoming  and  outgoing,  is  not  a  thing  of  memory  merely, — it  is  an 
assimilation  of  something  into  our  organism,  an  incorporation  of  his 
identity  with  our  own,  which  we  perceive  as  we  perceive  ourselves 
some  half  century  back. 

Our  present  reminiscence,  in  the  memoir,  naturally  begins  with 
this  image. 

"  The  schoolhouse  was  across  the  street  at  the  farther  corner  of  the 
opposite  square.  The  schoolmaster  was  Elisha  Crown,  an  English 
man  ;  a  middle-sized  man,  stoop-shouldered,  spare,  rather  thin-faced 
and  of  a  dark  complexion.  He  wore  a  suit  of  blue  cloth,  coat,  waist- 


20  MOTHER   AND    AUNT.  [1772—1783. 

coat  and  small-clothes,  with  black  horn  buttons,  an  old-fashioned 
cock-and-pinch  hat,  the  pinch  in  front,  far  projected  and  sharp,  a 
pair  of  silver  shoe-buckles, — and  was  a  very  respectable  looking  old- 
fashioned  gentleman."  This  picture  may  remind  us  of  Hogarth's 
"Politician,"  with  "the  pinch"  so  far  projecting  that  the  candle 
burns  a  hole  through  it. 

"The  school  was  transferred  about  a  mile  into  the  country,  on 
what  was  then  the  road  from  Bladensburg  to  Georgetown,  Mr. 
Crown's  house  being  on  one  side  of  the  road  and  the  school-house  on 
the  other — both  of  them  log  houses.  The  dwelling-house,  or  a  house 
built  on  the  same  site,  is  now  (1825)  standing,  and  the  foundation 
of  the  old  schoolhouse  is  still  visible.  The  land  and  house  belonged 
to  niy  uncle  Jasper  Wirt,  whose  eldest  daughter  Mr.  Crown  had 
married,  and  whose  dwelling,  a  single-storied  brick  house,  was  not 
more  than  a  quarter  of  a  mile  off,  and  is  also  still  standing." 

We  pass  now  from  the  schoolmaster  and  his  concerns,  to  an  incident 
connected  with  this  dwelling  of  Jasper  Wirt,  and  to  a  pleasant  family 
picture.  The  minute  recollection  of  this  incident  will  illustrate  that 
sensitiveness  of  imagination  to  which  we  have  referred. 

"  My  mother  had  come  over  from  Bladensburg,  one  summer  even 
ing,  on  a  visit  to  my  aunt,  and  after  school  I  went  down  to  join  her. 
My  aunt  dwells  upon  my  memory  in  strong  colours.  She  was  a  tal] 
and  rather  large-framed  woman,  with  a  fair  complexion  ^and  a  round 
face,  that  must  have  been  handsome  in  her  youth.  She  was  a  native 
of  Switzerland,  and  had  a  cast  of  character  that  made  her  worthy  of 
the  land  of  William  Tell.  A  kinder  being  never  lived.  She  was 
full  of  all  the  charities  and  courtesies  of  life,  always  ready  to  suggest 
excuses  for  the  weaknesses  and  frailties  of  others,  yet  without  any 
frailty  or  weakness  of  her  own  that  I  could  discover. 

"  She  was  religious,  a  great  reader  of  religious  books ;  and  had  a 
large,  old  folio  German  Bible,  bound  either  in  wood  or  hard  black 
leather,  with  silver  or  brass  clasps.  Often  have  I  seen  her  read  that 
book  with  streaming  eyes  and  a  voice  half  choked  with  her  feelings. 

"  On  the  evening  that  I  am  speaking  of,  there  was  one  of  the  most 
violent  thunderstorms  I  have  ever  witnessed.  My  aunt  got  down  her 
Bible  and  began  to  read  aloud.  As  the  storm  increased  she  read 
louder  and  louder.  My  mother  was  exceedingly  frightened.  She 


CHAP.  L]  A  THUNDERSTORM.  21 

was  one  of  the  most  tender  and  affectionate  of  beings ;  but  she  had 
the  timidity  of  her  sex  in  an  extreme  degree., — and,  indeed,  this  storm 
was  enough  to  appal  the  stoutest  heart.  One  flash  of  lightning  struck 
a  tree  in  the  yard  and  ripped  off  a  large  splinter,  which  it  drove  to 
wards  us.  My  mother  shrieked  aloud,  flew  behind  the  door  and  took 
me  with  her.  My  aunt  remained  firm  in  her  seat  and  noticed  the 
peal  in  no  other  way  than  by  the  increased  energy  of  her  voice.  This 
was  the  first  thunderstorm  I  remember.  I  never  got  over  my  mo 
ther's  contagious  terror  until  I  became  a  man.  Even  then,  and  even 
yet,  I  am  rendered  much  more  uneasy  by  a  thunderstorm  than,  I  believe, 
I  should  have  been  if  my  mother  hadr  on  that  occasion,  displayed  the 
firmness  of  my  aunt.  I  could  not  have  been  more  than  five  or  six 
years  old  when  this  happened.  The  incident  and  its  effect  on  me 
show  the  necessity  of  commanding  our  fears  before  our  children." 

Another  incident  — 

"  On  our  way  home  from  the  schoolhouse  to  Bladensburg  the  road 
passed  by  an  old  field,  on  the  outer  margin  of  which  a  negro  man  had 
been  buried  who,  it  was  reported,  had  been  whipped  to  death  by  his 
master.  Besides  the  boys,  who  went  to  this  school  from  Bladensburg, 
there  were  several  from  the  neighbourhood,  and,  amongst  others,  one 
whom  I  remember  only  as  Zack  Calvert.  This  boy  had  one  evening 
been  detained  at  school  after  all  the  rest  of  us  had  gone  home,  and 
had  to  pass  the  old  field  after  daylight  was  gone.  The  next  morning 
—  full  well  do  I  remember  how  he  made  my  flesh  creep  and  my  hair 
rise,  by  telling  us  that,  in  passing  the  field,  the  night  before,  he  heard 
a  whip-poor-will,  which  sate  upon  the  gravestone  of  the  negro,  cry  out 
( whip  him  well  —  whip  him  well  —  whip  him  well/  —  and  that  he 
could  hear  a  voice  answering  from  below,  <0h  pray!'  —  It  was  the 
first  time  that  a  superstitious  emotion  entered  my  mind,  and  I  now 
recall  how  dreadfully  sublime  it  was.  My  heart  quaked,  and  yet 
there  was  a  sort  of  terrible  pleasure  in  it  which  I  cannot  define.  It 
made  my  blood  creep  with  horror  to  believe  it :  yet  I  would  not  have 
had  it  false.  That  terrible  field  was  never  afterwards  passed  at  twi 
light  without  a  race,  in  which  I,  as  being  youngest,  was  always  behind, 
and  consequently  most  exposed  to  the  danger  and  proportionally  terri 
fied.  I  do  not  yet  hear  a  whip-poor-will,  without  some  of  these  mis 
givings  of  my  childhood." 


22  OLD   INHABITANTS.  [1772-1783. 

These  are  trifles  in  the  review  of  them,  though  not  without  some 
small  interest  in  connection  with  the  person  who  has  thought  them 
worth  recollecting.  They  call  to  memory  some  chamcteristics  which 
his  personal  friends  will  not  fail  to  recognise. 

We  have  some  pleasant  descriptions  of  several  merchants  of  Bla- 
densburg  of  the  old  time; — of  Mr.  Christopher  Lowndes  —  the 
"  tall,  spare  old  gentleman,  in  blue  broadcloth  and  plush,  and  cocked 
hat"  —  remarkable  for  his  politeness  and  suavity:  —  of  Mr.  Robert 
Dick,  the  silent,  thoughtful  man  of  business,  residing  in  a  beautiful 
mansion,  "  a  long  white  house  with  wings,  which  stood  on  the  summit 
of  the  Eastern  Ridge  which  overlooks  the  town :"  —  Mr.  Sidebotham, 
a  stirring,  busy,  successful  merchant,  rosy  from  good  living,  who,  in 
the  old  fashion  of  Maryland,  had  his  bowl  of  toddy  every  day  —  a 
thorough  John  Bull,  "proud,  rough,  absolute,  and  kind."  We  have 
shorter  notices  of  Mr.  Henderson,  Mr.  Huett,  and  Doctor  Ross, 
Messrs.  Campbell  and  Bruce,  factors,  with  good  capital  at  command. 
— Mr.  Ponsonby  was  one  of  the  magnates  of  the  village, — a  handsome 
man,  graceful,  lively,  well-informed,  and  somewhat  of  the  most  notice 
able  for  his  beautiful  bay  horse,  bright  silver  spurs,  stirrups,  bridle 
bit  and  whip  mountings,  all  of  glittering  silver  —  very  taking  to  the 
eye  of  William  Wirt  and  the  other  children  of  the  village. 

In  the  humbler  range  of  the  inhabitants  he  has  other  equally  plea 
sant  memories. 

"At  the  lower  end  of  the  town,  towards  Baltimore,  the  house 
nearest  the  Eastern  Branch  was  occupied  by  old  Mr.  Martin,  whom 
we  used  to  call  Uncle  Martin  —  why,  I  know  not.  The  Eastern 
Branch  is  subject  to  heavy  freshets,  which  have  flowed  up  to  Mr. 
Martin's  house,  and  sometimes  overflowed  the  whole  village.  One 
of  the  most  surprising  and  interesting  spectacles  to  me,  in  those  days, 
was  this  old  man  wading  up  to  his  waist,  during  a  freshet,  and  har 
pooning  the  sturgeon.  It  was  a  whale  fishery  in  miniature,  and  not 
less  interesting  to  me  at  that  date.  The  old  man  himself  was  an  odd 
fish.  He  used  to  get  fuddled  and  amuse  himself  with  singing  '  The 
Cuckoo's  nest/  and  attempting  to  dance  a  hornpipe  to  the  tune  of  it. 
He  was  fond  of  me  and  petted  me  a  good  deal.  I  remember  him  with 
kindness.  I  became  myself  a  hornpipe  dancer  by  an  occasion  I  will 
presently  mention,  and  the  old  man  was  delighted  to  see  me  dance  to 


CHAP.  I.]  THE  DANCING  MASTER.  23 

'the  Cuckoo's  nest/  sung  by  himself.  His  second  daughter  was  a 
beautiful  girl,  whom  I  can  just  remember.  The  oldest  son  of  my 
Uncle  Jasper  was  in  love  with  her,  and  I  have  a  recollection  of  having 
heard  him  take  leave  of  her,  when  he  was  going  to  sea  to  seek  his 
fortune.  He  was  accompanied  by  my  eldest  brother.  They  never 
returned,  nor  were  ever  heard  of  afterwards." 

"  I  must  not  forget  Colonel  Tattison,  as  he  called  himself  in  Mary 
land  —  Colonel  Degraves,  as  he  called  himself  in  Virginia,  —  the 
French  dancing-master,  whom  I  remember  as  a  most  symmetrical, 
elegant,  and  graceful  person.  To  teach  the  new-fashioned  minuet 
which  he  introduced  into  Bladensburg,  he  used  to  mark,  for  begin 
ners,  a  large  Z  on  the  floor  of  the  dancing-room  with  chalk,  and  that 
letter  gave  the  figure  of  the  dance.  The  house  in  which  the  school 
was  kept  stood  some  several  hundred  yards  from  where  I  lived,  but 
whilst  I  was  yet  in  petticoats,  I  used  to  steal  away  from  home  to 
see  Tattison  dance  his  minuet.  —  My  eldest  sister,  a  beautiful  bru 
nette,  not  then  fully  grown,  was  one  of  his  scholars,  and  very  nearly 
as  good  a  dancer  as  her  teacher.  It  is  not  in  imitative  childhood  to 
admire  any  thing  as  I  did  the  minuet,  without  learning  immediately 
to  dance  it;  and,  of  course,  being  a  mere  child,  I  soon  became  a 
subject  of  admiration  myself  as  a  minuet  dancer.  I  remember  that 
at  the  wedding  of  the  eldest  daughter  of  that  John  Martin,  whom  I 
have  mentioned,  my  sister  put  a  cocked-hat  on  my  head,  and  took  me 
out  to  exhibit  me  and  herself  in  the  French  minuet  —  the  graceful 
management  of  the  hat,  putting  it  on  and  off,  being  an  essential  part 
of  the  dance.  The  old  schoolmaster,  Mr.  Crown,  was  present,  and 
being  much  dissatisfied  with  the  admiration  lavished  on  the  French 
dance  (solely  because  it  was  Frencti),  he  took  out  a  lady  to  show  how 
much  superior  the  old  English  minuet  was.  That  was  danced  in  the 
figure  8,  and,  like  the  French,  by  a  gentleman  and  lady  only.  In 
passing  each  other  in  the  centre  of  the  figure,  there  was  a  moment 
when  the  gentleman  and  his  partner  were  back  to  back.  The 
minuet  time  and  step  being  very  slow,  this  uncourtly  relation  was 
continued  until  the  parties  arrived  at  the  ends  of  the  figure  and 
faced  about. 

11  Mr.  Crown  considered  it  the  quintessence  of  politeness  to  abbre 
viate  this  period,  by  setting  off  in  full  run  to  gain  the  upper  end  and 


24  GHOST  STORY.  [1772—1783. 

present  his  face.  The  old  gentleman's  dress  —  his  sharp  cock-and- 
pinch,  his  long-waisted  blue  coat,  his  red  waistcoat,  very  long,  and  his 
very  short  breeches  —  gave  him  an  air  so  grotesque,  whilst  executing 
this  run  to  the  extreme  end  of  the  room,  as  to  produce  an  explosion 
of  laughter.  Such  —  as  Cainden  says  on  a  somewhat  different  occa 
sion —  was  the  plain  and  jolly  mirth  of  our  ancestors  I" 

Here  follows  a  ghost  story  — 

"  There  was  another  incident  to  which  this  wedding  gave  rise.  A 
dance  was  given,  on  a  subsequent  night,  to  the  wedding  party,  at  our 
house.  When  the  company  had  danced  themselves  weary,  Tattison 
proposed  to  close  the  evening  by  raising  a  ghost.  The  matrons 
objected  to  it,  as  a  light  and  impious  trifling  with  solemn  subjects; 
but  Tattison  assured  them,  with  equal  gravity,  that  he  had  the  power 
of  raising  any  ghost  they  would  call  for,  and  that  he  could  give  them 
conclusive  proof  of  it :  that  if  any  one  would  go  up  stairs  and  consent 
to  be  locked  up  in  the  room  farthest  removed  from  the  company 
below,  the  stair  door  should  also  be  locked,  so  that  no  possible  com 
munication  could  be  held  between  the  person  above  and  those  below. 
After  this  the  company  might  fix  on  a  ghost  whom  he,  the  operator, 
would  cause  to  appear  to  the  person  up  stairs.  The  graver  part  of 
the  company  still  discouraged  the  experiment ;  but  the  curiosity  of  the 
younger  and  more  numerous  prevailed,  and  nothing  was  wanting  but 
a  sitter  up  stairs  to  enable  the  Frenchman  to  give  proof  of  his  skill  m 
the  black  art.  After  some  hesitation  amongst  all,  a  Mr.  Brice  of 
Alexandria  agreed  to  be  closeted.  He  was  accordingly  taken  up 
stairs.  The  door  of  the  room  into  which  he  was  introduced  was 
locked,  and  after  that  the  door  of  the  stair  below,  which  opened  from 
the  stairs  upon  the  dancing-room.  Tattison  then  asked  for  a  shovel 
of  live  coals,  some  salt,  brimstone,  and  a  case-knife.  Whilst  these 
things  were  getting,  he  proposed  that  the  women  should,  in  a  whis 
pering  consultation,  agree  upon  the  ghost  to  be  raised,  and  report  it 
secretly  to  him.  This  was  done ;  and  the  ghost  agreed  upon  was  to 
be  that  of  John  Francis,  a  little,  superannuated  shoemaker,  who  had 
died  some  few  years  before  —  in  his  latter  days  a  ludicrous  person, 
whose  few  remaining  locks  were  snowy  white,  with  a  nose  as  red  as 
Bardolph's,  and  eyes  of  rheum  —  and  who  was  accustomed  to  sing, 
with  a  paralytic  shake  of  the  head  and  tremulous  voice, — 


CHAP.  I.]  A  GHOST  STORY.  25 

*  What  did  we  come  here  for?  what  did  we  come  here  for? 
We  came  here  to  prittle  prattle, 
And  lo  make  the  glasses  rattle  ; 
And  that's  what  we  came  here  for.' 

"  The  habit  of  drinking  was  so  inveterate  upon  him  that  he  had 
not  been  able  to  walk  for  some  years  before  his  death,  except  with 
the  help  of  another,  and  then  with  but  a  tottering  step.  The  annun 
ciation  of  his  name  was  answered  by  a  half-suppressed  laugh  around 
the  room.  The  difficulty  of  the  Frenchman's  task  was  supposed  to 
be  not  a  little  increased  by  attempting  to  make  John  Francis's  ghost 
walk  alone.  He,  however,  nothing  daunted,  began  his  incantations, 
which  consisted  of  sprinkling  salt  and  brimstone  on  the  coals,  mutter 
ing  over  them  a  charm  in  some  sort  of  gibberish,  and  knocking 
solemnly  on  the  stair  door  with  the  butt  of  his  case-knife.  These 
strokes  on  the  door  were  as  regular  as  the  tolling  of  a  bell,  each 
series  closing  with  a  double  knock ;  then  came  a  pause,  another  series 
of  knocks  closed  by  another  double  stroke,  and  so  on  to  the  end  of 
the  ceremony. 

"  The  process  was  long  and  solemn,  and  there  was  something  in 
the  business  itself  and  in  the 'sympathy  with  the  imagined  terrors  of 
the  witness  above,  which  soon  hushed  the  whole  assembly  into  a  ner 
vous  stillness  akin  to  that  of  young  children  listening  to  a  ghost  story 
at  midnight.  In  about  half  an  hour  the  ceremony  was  closed,  in  a 
shower  of  blows  and  the  agitated  cries  of  the  Frenchman.  Brice  was 
heard  to  fall  on  the  floor  above.  The  Frenchman  rushed  up  stairs  at 
the  head  of  several  of  the  company;  and  there  our  sitter  was  found 
on  the  floor  in  a  swoon.  He  was  brought  to  with  the  aid  of  cold 
water,  and  on  reviving  said  he  had  seen  a  man  enter  the  room  with  a 
coal  of  fire  on  his  nose,  and  on  his  forehead  written  in  fire  the  name 
of  John  Francis.  —  It  was  agreed,  on  all  hands,  to  be  very  strange ; 
and  many  shook  their  heads  significantly  at  Tattison,  intimating  that 
he  knew  more  than  he  ought,  and  that  it  was  not  very  clear  he  was 
fit  company  for  Christian  people.  No  one  was  disposed  to  renew  the 
dance,  and  the  party  broke  up.  The  Frenchman,  with  his  characte 
ristic  politeness,  flew  to  the  door  to  help  the  ladies  down  the  steps, 
when  he  saw,  standing  outside  of  the  door,  close  at  hand,  a  gigantic 
phantom  arrayed  in  white  and  arms  stretched  wide,  as  if  to  receive 
him.  He  shrieked,  leaped  from  the  steps  and  disappeared." 

VOL.  I.  — 3 


26  THE  WIRE  DANCER.  [1772—1783. 

This  was  plot  and  counterplot. — Next  comes  that  wonder  of  child 
hood,  the  Wire  Dancer,  with  his  balancings  and  other  accomplish 
ments. 

"  About  the  same  period  when  Tattison  was  figuring  in  our  village, 
we  had  another  exhibition  still  better  fitted  to  gratify  my  love  of  the 
picturesque,  and  awaken  whatever  of  fancy  belonged  to  me.  This 
was  Mr.  Templeman,  a  dancer  on  the  slackwire.  The  exhibition  was 
in  Tattison's  dancing-room.  We  got  there  at  early  candle-light.  The 
room  was  brilliantly  lighted.  A  large  wire  fastened  at  each  end  of 
the  room,  near  the  ceiling,  hung  in  a  curve,  the  middle  of  it  within 
twelve  or  fifteen  inches  of  the  floor.  I  remember  the  pouring  in  of 
the  company  till  the  room  was  filled,  as  the  phrase  is,  '  with  all  the 
beauty  and  fashion  of  the  place/  Still  better  do  I  remember,  after 
a  note  of  preparation  from  another  room,  which  bespoke  and  com 
manded  silence,  the  entree  of  Templemau  —  a  tall  man,  superbly 
attired  in  a  fanciful  dress ;  of  a  military  air,  with  a  drum  hung  over 
his  shoulder  by  a  scarlet  scarf.  It  was  such  a  picture  as  I  had  never 
seen.  Saluting  the  company  with  dignity,  he  placed  himself  upon 
the  wir£;  then  giving  a  hand  to  his  attendant,  he  was  drawn  to  one 
side  of  the  room,  and,  being  let  go,  swung  at  ease, — beating  the  drum 
like  a  professional  performer.  He  performed  all  the  usual  exploits, 
balancing  hoops,  swords,  &c., — and,  to  crown  the  whole,  danced  what 
I  had  never  seen  before,  a  hornpipe,  in  superior  style ; — his  spangled 
shoes,  in  the  rapidity  of  his  steps,  producing  upon  me  a  most  brilliant 
effect.  My  own  imitative  propensity  came  again  into  play,  and  I 
became  a  celebrated  hornpipe-dancer  before  I  was  six  years  of  age ; — 
meaning  by  celebrated,  such  celebrity  as  spread  through  about  one- 
third  of  our  little  village.  The  image  of  Templeman  arose  before 
me  as  something  of  another  age,  or  another  sphere  when,  about  forty 
years  after  I  had  seen  him  swinging  in  such  splendour  on  the  wire,  I 
met  in  Washington  a  well-dressed  gentleman-like  person,  somewhat 
corpulent,  who  was  made  known  to  me  as  the  paragon  of  my  child 
ish  admiration,  converted  into  a  plain  citizen,  and  an  extensive  dealer 
in  city  lots.'7 

We  have  now  some  pictures  of  the  Revolutionary  war. 

"  Before  I  left  Bladensburg  to  reside  in  it  no  more,  which  hap 
pened  in  my  seventh  year,  another  event  occurred  which  rests  vividly 


CHAP.  I.]  LEE'S  LEGION.  27 

upon  my  recollection.  This  was  the  passage  of  Lee's  Legion  through 
the  village.  I  presume  this  occurred  when  Lee  was  detached  from 
the  north  to  support  General  Greene  in  the  south.  I  remember  the 
long  line  of  cavalry  in  the  street,  the  large  beautiful  horses  and  fine- 
looking  men  in  uniform,  and  a  particular  individual  who  was  pointed 
out  to  me  as  a  relation  to  my  family.  His  hair  was  loose,  long,  black 
and  frizzled,  and  flowed  over  his  broad  shoulders,  sweeping  down  to 
his  saddle.  General  Lee,  whom  I  knew  well  in  after-times,  has  re 
peatedly  mentioned  this  individual  to  me  as  an  officer  (a  subaltern, 
perhaps)  of  great  merit;  which  fixes  the  fact  that  the  cavalry  I  saw 
was  of  Lee's  Legion.  It  extended  along  the  street  until  the  head  of 
the  column  had  turned  the  corner  at  the  lower,  the  southern,  extrem 
ity  of  the  village,  before  the  rear  came  in  view  : — a  spectacle  well  cal 
culated  to  fill  the  imagination,  and  stamp  itself  deeply  on  the  memory 
of  a  boy  of  my  age. 

"  It  must  have  been  at  the  same  time  that  a  body  of  infantry  of 
the  Continental  army,  was  in  Bladensburg, — perhaps,  also,  a  part  of 
Lee's  Legion.  There  was  among  them  a  doctor  whose  name,  it  strikes 
me,  I  have  heard  mentioned  as  a  surgeon  in  Lee's  corps.  The  only 
thing,  in  the  way  of  rebuke,  I  recollect  to  have  ever  received  from 
my  dear  mother,  was  occasioned  by  an  incident  connected  with  these 
troops.  The  continual  musters  of  militia  in  Bladensburg,  with  the 
drum  and  fife,  had  made  me  a  drummer  from  a  period  so  early  that  I 
have  no  recollection  of  its  commencement.  My  ear  was  naturally 
good,  and  I  was  a  singer  for  the  amusement  of  company  from  the 
time  that  I  could  speak,  and  perhaps  sooner.  The  accuracy  of  my 
ear  and  my  imitative  propensity  kept  me  drumming  on  the  tables  and 
on  the  floors  and  singing  the  common  marches  of  the  time,  with  such 
directness  and  dexterity  that  it  attracted  the  attention  of  others.  An 
old  gentleman  whose  name  I  cannot  now  recall,  drew  out  of  his  bosom 
one  day,  a  pair  of  small  drumsticks,  which  he  had  had  made  for  me 
and  painted  blue,  and  gave  them  to  me  as  a  present.  I  had  no  drum, 
but  with  these  sticks  I  pursued  my  drumming  exercise  with  such  effect 
that  I  could  soon  beat  time  as  accurately  as  any  drummer  in  the  army. 
This  was  the  state  of  my  proficiency  when  the  troops  aforesaid  marched 
through  Bladensburg.  Pushing  and  peering  about  them,  I  found 
oiyself,  one  day,  at  the  baker's  in  a  room  where  the  soldiers  were 


28  MR.  ROGERS'  SCHOOL.  [1772—1783. 

drinking,  and  where  there  were  drums  and  fifes  in  plenty.  The  baker 
was  a  merry-hearted  man,  and,  upon  seeing  me,  had  a  drum  and  fife 
paraded,  and  the  drumsticks  put  into  my  hands.  I  set  to  beating, 
with  the  accompaniment  of  the  fife  too.  It  was  my  first  exhibition. 
I  performed  with  so  much  animation  and  success  that  the  soldiers 
were  astounded.  The  drum-head  was  soon  covered  with  as  many 
pieces  of  silver  coin  and  pennies  as  filled  both  my  hands.  It  was  on 
occasion  of  my  carrying  these  home  in  triumph,  that  my  honoured  and 
beloved  mother  gave  me  a  rebuke  against  taking  money  presents, 
which  fashioned  my  character  in  that  particular  for  life." 

"  In  1779,  I  was  sent  to  Georgetown,  eight  miles  from  Bladens- 
burg,  to  school  —  a  classical  academy  kept  by  Mr.  Rogers.  I  was 
placed  at  boarding  with  the  family  of  Mr.  Schoolfield,  a  quaker. 
They  occupied  a  small  house  of  hewn  logs  at  the  eastern  end  of  Bridge 
street.  Friend  Schoolfield  was  a  well-set,  square-built,  honest-faced 
and  honest-hearted  quaker : — his  wife  one  of  the  best  of  creation.  A 
deep  sadness  fell  upon  me,  when  I  was  left  by  the  person  who  accom 
panied  me  to  Georgetown.  When  I  could  no  longer  see  a  face  that 
I  knew,  nor  an  object  that  was  not  strange,  I  remember  the  sense  of 
total  desertion  and  forlornness  that  seized  upon  my  heart — unlike  any 
thing  I  felt  in  after  years.  I  sobbed  as  if  my  heart  would  break  for 
hours  together,  and  was  utterly  inconsolable  notwithstanding  the  ma 
ternal  tenderness  with  which  good  Mrs.  Schoolfield  tried  to  comfort 
me.  Almost  half  a  century  has  rolled  over  the  incident,  yet  full  well 
do  I  recollect  with  what  gentle  affection  and  touching  sympathy  she 
urged  every  topic  that  was  calculated  to  console  a  child  of  my  years. 
After  quieting  me  in  some  measure  by  her  caresses,  she  took  down 
her  Bible  and  read  to  me  the  story  of  Joseph  and  his  brethren.  It 
is  probable  I  had  read  it  before,  as  such  things  are  usually  read,  — 
without  understanding  it.  But  she  made  me  comprehend  it ;  and  in 
the  distresses  of  Joseph  and  his  father  I  forgot  my  own.  His  sepa 
ration  from  his  family  had  brought  him  to  great  honour,  and  possibly 
mine,  I  thought,  might  be  equally  fortunate.  I  claim  some  sense  of 
gratitude.  I  never  forget  an  act  of  kindness,  and  never  received  one 
that  my  heart  has  not  impelled  me  to  wish  for  some  occasion  to  return 
it.  So  far  as  my  experience  goes,  I  am  persuaded,  too,  that  doing  an 
act  of  kindness  and,  still  more,  repeated  acts  to  the  same  individual, 


CHAP.  I.]  MRS.  LOVE  AND  HKR  FAMILY.  29 

are  as  apt  to  attach  the  heart  of  the  benefactor  to  the  object,  as  that 
of  the  beneficiary  to  the  person  who  does  him  the  service.  It  was  so 
in  this  instance.  I  went  to  see  Mrs.  Schoolfield  after  I  became  a 
man,  and  a  warmer  meeting  has  seldom  taken  place  between  mother 
and  son 

"  I  passed  one  winter  in  Georgetown,  and  remember  seeing  a  long 
line  of  wagons  cross  the  river  on  the  ice.  I  conjecture  that  it  was 
the  winter  of  1779-80,  and  that  these  wagons  were  attached  to  the 
troops  already  mentioned,  which  were  going  to  the  south.  I  remem 
ber  also  to  have  seen  a  gentleman,  Mr.  Peter,  I  think,  going  out  gun 
ning  for  canvass-backs — then  called  white-backs — which  I  have  seen 
in  those  days  whitening  the  Potomac,  and  which  when  they  rose  as 
they  sometimes  did  for  half  a  mile  or  a  mile  together,  produced  a 
sound  like  thunder.  I  mention  this — being  struck  with  the  different 
state  of  this  game  now  on  the  Potomac." 

This  school  of  Mr.  Rogers  left  no  pleasant  impression  on  the  mind 
of  the  pupil.  He  remained  there  less  than  one  year,  changed  his 
boarding-house,  and,  getting  from  under  the  eye  of  good  Mrs.  School- 
field  and  her  household,  fell  into  associations  with  others  not  so  kind. 
Richard  Brent,  Esq.,  a  gentleman  once  distinguished  in  the  House  of 
Representatives,  but  long  since  dead,  was  a  fellow-student  at  George 
town  school. 

The  recollections  now  carry  us  to  another  quarter. 

"  From  Georgetown  I  was  transferred  to  a  classical  school  in  Charles 
county,  Maryland,  about  forty  miles  from  Bladensburg.  This  school 
was  kept  by  one  Hatch  Dent,  in  the  vestry-house  of  Newport  Church. 
I  was  boarded  with  a  widow  lady  by  the  name  of  Love,  and  my  resi 
dence  in  her  family  forms  one  of  the  few  sunny  spots  in  the  retrospect 
of  my  childhood.  Mrs.  Love  was  a  small,  thin  old  lady,  a  good  deal 
bent  by  age,  yet  brisk  and  active.  The  family  was  composed  of  her 
and  three  maiden  daughters,  of  whom  the  eldest,  I  suppose,  was  verg 
ing  on  forty,  and  the  youngest,  perhaps,  twenty-eight.  She  had  a 
son  married  and  settled  in  the  neighbourhood.  The  eldest  daughter 
was  named  Nancy,  a  round,  plump  and  jolly  old  maid,  who  was  the 
weaver  of  the  family,  and  used  to  take  a  great  deal  of  snuff.  The 
second  was  Sally.  She  presided  over  the  dairy,  which  was  always 
neat  and  sweet,  and  abundantly  supplied  with  the  richest  cream  and 
3* 


30  RURAL  LIFE.  [1772—1783. 

butter.  Sally  was  somewhere  about  thirty,  short,  rosy  and  brisk,  with 
a  countenance  marked  by  health  and  good-humour,  and  with  one  of  the 
kindest  hearts  that  beat  in  the  bosom  of  her  kind  sex.  She  was  fond 
of  me,  banqueted  me  on  milk  and  cream  to  my  heart's  content,  ad 
mired  my  songs,  and  sang  herself.  From  her  I  first  heard  Roslin 
Castle.  Her  clear  and  loud  voice  could  make  the  neighbourhood  vocal 
with  its  notes  of  touching  plaint.  From  her,  too,  I  first  heard  the 
name  of  Clarissa  Harlowe,  and  she  gave  me,  in  her  manner,  a  skele 
ton  of  the  story.  Peggy,  the  youngest,  was  pale  and  delicate,  with 
more  softness  of  manners  than  the  others.  She  was  the  knitter  and 
seamstress  of  the  household ;  of  very  sweet  disposition,  with  a  weak 
and  slender,  but  kindly  voice.  She  did  not  sing  herself,  but  was  very 
fond  of  hearing  us  who  did.  There  were  two  boys  of  us  near  the 
same  age.  Johnson  Carnes  was  rather  older  and  larger  than  me.  He 
was  a  good,  diffident,  rather  grave  boy,  with  better  common  sense  than 
I  had.  But  he  did  not  sing,  was  rather  homely,  and  had  no  mirth 
and  frolic  in  him.  I,  on  the  contrary,  was  pert,  lively  and  saucy,  and 
they  used  to  say  pretty  withal — said  smart  things  sometimes,  and  sang 
two  or  three  songs  of  humour  very  well.  One  was  Dick  of  Banting 
Dane,  in  which  the  verse  about  '  my  father's  black  sow '  was  a  jest 
that  never  grew  stale,  nor  failed  to  raise  a  hearty  laugh.  Another 
was  a  description  of  a  race  at  New  Market  between  two  horses  called 
Sloven  and  Thunderbolt.  Sloven  belonged  to  some  Duke  —  perhaps 
the  Duke  of  Bolton.  The  verse  ran,  as  I  remember — 

'  When  Sloven  saw  the  Duke  his  master, 

He  laid  back  his  ears  and  did  run  much  faster.' 

"  Besides  my  singing,  I  danced  to  the  astonishment  of  the  natives, 
and,  altogether,  had  the  reputation  of  a  genius.  Thus  admired,  flat 
tered  and  feasted  with  milk  and  cream,  Roslin  Castle  and  Clarissa 
Harlowe,  &c.,  what  more  could  a  child  of  my  age  want  to  make  him 
happy !  The  very  negroes  used  to  be  pleased  to  contribute  to  my 
amusement.  Old  Moll  carried  me  to  the  cowpen,  where  she  per 
mitted  me,  with  a  clean,  broad  splinter,  prepared  for  the  purpose,  to 
whip  the  rich  froth  from  the  milk-pail ;  and  her  son  George,  after  a 
hard  day's  work  in  the  field,  came  home  at  night  and  played  the  horse 
for  me,  by  going  on  all  fours,  in  the  green  yard,  with  me  mounted 


CHAP.  I.]  MR.  DENT'S  SCHOOL.  ol 

upon  his  back, — lie  going  through  the  feats  of  an  imaginary  fox-hunt, 
sounding  the  horn  and  leaping  over  imaginary  fences,  gates,  &c. — all 
of  which  was  life  and  joy  to  me.  To  crown  all,  I  had  a  sweetheart; 
one  of  the  prettiest  cherubs  that  ever  was  born.  The  only  thing  I 
ever  thanked  Nancy  Love  for,  was  giving  me  the  occasion  of  becoming 
acquainted  with  this  beautiful  girl.  She  took  me  with  her  once  on  a 
visit  to  her  aunt  Reeder.  Mr.  Thomas  Reeder  lived  on  the  banks 
of  the  Potomac,  just  above  Laidlowe's,  and  opposite  to  Hooe's  Ferry. 
In  those  days,  there  was  a  ferry  from  Reeder's  to  Hooe's.  The 
house  was  of  brick,  situated  on  a  high,  airy  bank,  giving  a  beautiful 
view  of  the  Potomac,  which  is  there  four  miles  wide.  Peggy  Reeder 
was  the  only  child  of  her  parents, — about  my  own  age,  rather  younger, 
and  as  beautiful  as  it  is  possible  for  a  child  to  be.  We  fell  most 
exceedingly  in  love  with  each  other.  She  was  accustomed  to  make 
long  visits  to  her  aunt  Love,  and  no  two  lovers,  however  romantic, 
were  ever  more  happy  than  we.  On  my  part,  it  was  a  serious  passion. 
No  lover  was  ever  more  disconsolate  in  the  absence  of  his  mistress, 
Dor  more  enraptured  at  meeting  her.  I  do  not  know  whether  it  is 
held  that  the  affections  keep  pace  with  the  intellect  in  their  develop 
ment  ;  but  I  do  know  that  there  is  nothing  in  the  sentiment  of  happy 
love,  which  I  did  not  experience  for  that  girl,  in  the  course  of  the 
two  years  when  I  resided  at  Mrs.  Love's.  When  I  left  there,  we 
were  firmly  engaged  to  be  married  at  the  following  Easter.  I  felt 
proud  and  happy,  not  in  the  least  doubting  the  fulfilment  of  the 
engagement  at  the  time  appointed." 

"  As  for  school,  Mr.  Dent  was  a  most  excellent  man,  a  sincere  and 
pious  Christian,  and,  I  presume,  a  good  teacher — for  I  was  too  young 
to  judge,  and,  in  fact,  much  too  young  for  a  Latin  school.  In  the 
two  years,  Johnson  Games  and  myself  got  as  far  advanced  as  Caesar's 
Commentaries  —  though  we  could  not  have  been  well  grounded,  for 
when  I  changed  to  another  school,  I  was  put  back  to  Cornelius 
Ncpos.  Mr.  Dent  was  very  good  tempered.  I  do  not  remember  to 
have  received  from  him  a  harsh  word  or  any  kind  of  punishment  but 
once.  His  school  was  crowded.  I  can  recall  none  of  the  scholars 
who  attained  much  distinction,  except  one  who  was  with  us  but  a 
short  time  —  Alexander  Campbell,  who  afterwards  became  celebrated 
as  an  orator  in  Virginia,  and  still  more  painfully  celebrated  for  his 


32  ALEXANDER  CAMPBELL.  [1772     1783. 

melancholy  end.  According  to  my  recollection  of  him,  when  he  came 
to  Mr.  Dent's,  he  was  between  eighteen  and  twenty  years  old.  He 
had  just  taken  a  prize  for  eloquence  at  the  school  in  Georgetown. 
In  deportment,  he  was  manly  and  dignified; — rather  grave  and 
thoughtful,  though  sometimes  relaxing  a  little.  I  remember  his 
puzzling  me  with  forte  dux  fel  flat  in  gutture.  I  recall,  too,  that 
perpetually  tremulous  and  dancing  eye-ball,  by  which,  in  common 
with  others  of  his  family,  he  was  so  strikingly  marked. 

"I  never  saw  him  after  he  left  Mr.  Dent's;  but  he  was  still 
figuring  at  the  bar  after  I  grew  up,  and  went  to  commence  the  prac 
tice  in  the  upper  part  of  Virginia.  I  suppose  he  came  to  the  bar 
several  years  after  Chief  Justice  Marshall  and  Judge  Washington, 
who  must  themselves  have  begun  to  practise  after  the  Revolutionary 
Avar.  Edmund  Randolph  qualified  just  before  the  Revolution,  or, 
perhaps,  at  the  point  of  its  commencement;  Patrick  Henry  about 
fifteen  years  earlier.  Yet  all  these  gentlemen  were  still  at  the  bar 
when  Mr.  Campbell  began  his  career.  He  appeared  with  them  fre 
quently  in  the  same  causes ;  and  it  is  high  praise,  but  no  less  just 
than  high,  to  say,  that  even  among  them  he  was  a  distinguished  man. 
He  stood  confessedly  in  the  first  rank  of  genius.  In  logic,  he  did 
not  wield  the  Herculean  club  of  Marshall ;  nor  did  he,  in  rhetoric, 
exhibit  the  gothic  magnificence  of  Henry, — but  his  quiver  was  filled 
with  polished  arrows  of  the  finest  point,  and  were  launched  with 
Apollonian  skill  and  grace.  Some  of  the  most  beautiful  touches  of 
eloquence  I  have  ever  heard,  were  echoes  from  Campbell  which 
reached  us  in  the  mountains.  His  arguments  were  much  extolled 
for  their  learning  and  strength,  as  well  as  beauty.  I  have  heard  it 
said  that  Mr.  Pendleton,  the  President  of  the  Court  of  Appeals, 
spoke  of  Campbell's  argument  in  the  case  of  Roy  and  Garnett, 
reported  by  Mr.  Washington,  as  the  most  perfect  model  of  forensic 
discussion  he  had  ever  heard. — 

"Poor  fellow!-  *  *  *  * 

"  He  left  a  whimsical  will,  which  I  have  seen,  and  in  which  was 
a  request  that  no  stone  might  be  placed  over  his  grave,  for  the  reason 
that  if  a  stone  were  placed  over  every  grave,  there  would  be  no  earth 
left  for  agriculture." 

Leaving  this  digression,  we  go  back  to  Mrs.  Love's. 


CHAP.  I.]  RETURN  OF  PEACE.  33 

"  I  lived  there,  I  think,  until  the  year  1782,  as  perfectly  happy  as 
a  child  could  be  who  was  separated  from  his  mother  and  the  other 
natural  objects  of  his  affections.  From  the  time  I  rose  until  I  wei\t 
to  bed,  the  live-long  day,  it  was  all  enjoyment,  save  only  with  two 
drawbacks — the  going  to  school,  and  the  getting  tasks  on  holidays, — • 
which  last,  by  the  by,  is  a  practical  cruelty  that  ought  to  be  abolished. 
I  never  knew  good  to  come  of  it,  but  much  harm ;  for  it  starts  across 
the  child's  path,  like  a  goblin,  throughout  the  holidays.  The  task  is 
deferred  until  the  last  moment,  then,  either  slubbered  over  any  how 
or  omitted  altogether,  and  a  thousand  falsehoods  invented  to  evade  or 
excuse  it.  But  these  holiday  tasks  were  the  order  of  the  day  in  my 
youth,  and  haunted  me  until  the  holidays  no  longer  deserved  the 
name.  With  the  exception  of  these  same  tasks  and  a  slight  repug 
nance  to  daily  school,  Mrs.  Love's  was  an  elysium  to  me.  It  was  a 
very  quiet  life,  without  the  amusing  incidents  of  Bladensburg  and 
Georgetown.  The  only  picturesque  occurrence  of  which  I  have  any 
recollection  was  the  passage  of  a  party  of  fox-hunters,  with  their 
dogs  and  horses,  one  day,  by  our  dwelling-house.  The  public  road 
to  Allen's  Fresh  ran  close  by  the  gate,  where  I  was  standing  alone, 
when  this  animated  and  noisy  party  dashed  along.  It  was  such  an 
obstreperous  invasion  of  the  stillness  of  the  country,  and  so  entirely 
novel  a  spectacle  to  me,  that  I  drew  back  from  the  gate  and  walked 
towards  the  house  to  get  out  of  the  way  of  the  mischief  of  which  they 
seemed  full.  One  of  the  riders,  observing  my  movement,  put  spurs 
to  his  horse  and  leaped  the  fence  by  the  side  of  the  gate,  as  if  to 
frighten  and  pursue  me ;  but  I  was  rather  too  proud  to  run,  and  he 
returned  to  his  party  the  way  he  came." 

*  ****** 

"  There  was  a  barbacue  at  the  Cool  Springs,  near  Johnson  Carries' 
father's,  to  celebrate  the  return  of  peace.  This  was  an  idea,  I  well 
remember,  which  puzzted  me  exceedingly.  Having  known  no  other 
things  but  a  state  of  war,  I  had  no  suspicion  that  there  was  any  thing 
unnatural  or  uncommon  in  it.  I  must  have  heard  continually  of  the 
battles  that  were  fought,  but  I  have  not  the  slightest  vestige  on  my 
memory  of  any  such  thing ; — which  can  only  proceed  from  the  cir 
cumstance  that  battles,  defeats  and  victories  must  have  appeared  to 
ine  as  ordinary  occurrences.  I  was  exceedingly  perplexed,  therefore, 

c 


34  DAY  DREAMS.  [1772—1783. 

to  understand  the  event  which  this  barbaeue  celebrated.  I  had  no 
distinct  idea  of  the  meaning  of  war  and  peace ;  and,  after  the  expla 
nation  that  was  given  to  me,  had  still  but  vague  and  confused  impres 
sions  of  the  subject.  I  presume  that  the  event  in  question  was  the 
signature  of  the  preliminary  articles  in  1781,  when  I  was  only  nine 
years  old.  If  I  had  been  at  any  time  nearer  to  the  immediate  seat 
of  the  war,  the  terrors  of  those  around  me  might  have  startled  me 
into  a  clearer  perception  of  its  character,  and  have  prepared  me  the 
better  to  understand  and  enjoy  the  return  of  peace.  As  it  was,  I  had 
never  heard  of  it  but  at  a  distance  and  with  composure,  and  had  seen 
nothing  of  war  but  its  '  pride,  pomp  and  circumstance/  to  which  a 
boy  at  my  age  had  no  objection." 

"  I  became  sensible  of  the  power  of  forming  and  pursuing  at  plea 
sure,  a  day-dream  from  which  I  derived  great  enjoyment,  and  to  which 
I  found  myself  often  recurring.  There  was  nothing  in  the  scenery 
around  me  to  awaken  such  vagaries.  It  was  tame,  gentle  and 
peaceful.  The  house  stood  on  a  flat  about  half  a  mile  wide  and  one 
mile  long.  On  the  east,  the  view  was  shut  in  by  a  hill  of  moderate 
height,  which  stretched  along  the  whole  length  of  the  plain — gently 
undulating,  verdant  and  adorned  with  a  growth  of  noble  walnut  trees 
which  were  scattered  over  its  sides  and  summit.  This  hill  was  the 
only  handsome  object  in  view.  On  every  other  side  the  plain  was 
locked  in  by  swamps  or  woods ;  so  that  there  was  neither  incentive 
nor  fuel  for  poetic  dreams.  Mine  were  the  amusements  of  the  dull 
morning  walks  from  Mrs.  Love's  to  the  schoolhouse.  It  was  a  walk 
of  about  two  miles,  and  my  companion  rather  disposed  to  silence.  I 
remember  very  distinctly  the  subject  of  one  of  these  vagaries,  from 
the  circumstance  of  my  having  recalled,  renewed  and  varied  it  again 
and  again  from  the  pleasure  it  afforded  me.  I  imagined  myself  the 
owner  of  a  beautiful  black  horse,  fleet  as  the  winds.  My  pleasure 
consisted  in  imagining  the  admiration  of  the  immense  throngs  on  the 
race-field,  brought  there  chiefly  to  witness  the  exploits  of  my  prodigy 
of  a  horse.  I  could  see  them  following  and  admiring  him  as  he 
walked  along  the  course,  and  could  hear  their  bursts  of  applause  as 
he  shot  by,  first  one  competitor,  and  then  another,  in  the  race.  The 
vision  was  vivid  as  life,  and  I  felt  all  the  glow  of  triumph  that  a  real 
victory  could  have  given." 


CHAP.  I.]  COLONEL  LEE.  35 

These  imaginings  were  characteristic  of  the  boy,  and  seem  to  have 
typified  the  peculiar  nature  of  his  aspirations  in  the  more  mature 
period  of  his  manhood. 

Here  is  a  remembrance  of  a  notable  personage  of  the  Revo 
lution. — 

"  I  must  not  forget  a  rencontre  which  I  had  with  a  very  distin 
guished  man  at  this  period.  It  had  happened  that,  on  some  former 
occasion,  I  had  attracted  the  attention  of  Col.  Lee,  of  the  Legion  al 
ready  mentioned,  as  he  passed  through  Bladensburg.  A  volume  of 
Blackstone  chanced  to  be  lying  on  the  table,  near  which  he  was  sit 
ting  ;  and,  showing  me  the  title  on  the  back  of  the  volume,  he  asked 
me  what  I  called  it.  I  pronounced  the  word  '  Commentaries'  with 
the  accent  on  the  second  syllable,  and  he  corrected  my  cachilology, 
as  Lord  Duberly  calls  it.  Upon  the  foundation  of  this  slight  ac 
quaintance,  I  was  recognized  by  this  gentleman  at  Mr.  Reeder's, 
where  I  had  gone  on  a  visit  with  one  of  the  Miss  Loves,  and  whither 
Col.  Lee  had  come  to  cross  the  ferry,  with  his  first  wife,  then,  as  I 
was  told,  newly  married.  He  seemed  quite  pleased  to  meet  me,  took 
great  notice  of  me,  and,  finally,  insisted  on  my  crossing  the  river  with 
him  to  Hooe's,  where  he  promised  to  give  me  some  fine  cherries. 
They  who  had  care  of  me  seemed  to  consider  me  and  themselves  much 
honoured  by  this  notice  of  Col.  Lee,  and  readily  consented  to  his  pro 
posal.  So,  I  was  placed  alongside  of  him  in  the  boat,  while  his 
young  wife,  for  the  greater  part,  if  not  the  whole  of  the  passage,  stood 
upon  one  of  the  benches,  facing  the  breeze,  which  wantoned  freely 
with  her  robes.  She  had  a  fine  figure,  and  her  attitude,  as  the  boat 
rose  and  sank  on  the  waves,  was  so  strikingly  picturesque  as  to  remain 
strongly  on  my  memory.  The  river  is  at  this  place  four  miles  wide, 
and  the  beach  and  the  opposite  side  is,  at  some  states  of  the  tide,  so 
shallow  that  a  boat  cannot  get  quite  to  the  shore,  in  which  case  pas 
sengers  have  to  be  borne  to  dry  land  in  the  arms  of  the  ferryman. 
This  was  the  case  on  the  present  occasion.  Col.  Lee  and  his  wife 
were  taken  to  the  shore,  where  they,  their  servants,  ferrymen  and  all 
moved  off  to  the  house  at  Hooe's,  leaving  me  sitting  alone  in  the  boat 
to  chew  the  cud  of  disappointment  and  neglect  as  well  as  I  could.  I 
was  entirely  forgotten : — but  I  did  not  forget  this  slight,  in  the  reflec 
tions  which,  even  then  and  often  afterwards,  the  incident  provoked. 


36  MR.  HUNT'S  SCHOOL.  [1772—1783 

After  sitting  alone  in  the  boat  for  near  an  hour,  un thought  of  by  the 
person  who  had  betrayed  me  into  that  situation,  I  was  at  last  relieved 
by  the  ferrymen,  who  returning  at  their  leisure,  without  either  cher 
ries  or  apology  from  Col.  Lee,  took  me  safe  back  to  the  more  friendly 
bosoms  I  had  left  on  the  other  shore." 

"  In  1783,  I  was  removed  from  the  grammar  school  of  Mr.  Dent 
in  Charles  county,  to  that  of  the  Rev.  James  Hunt,  the  Presbyterian 
minister  in  Montgomery  county,  whom  I  have  already  mentioned.  I 
was  put  to  board  with  Major  Samuel  \Yade  Magruder,  a  substantial 
planter,  who  lived  about  two  miles  from  Mr.  Hunt's.  The  Magru- 
ders,  at  that  time,  formed  a  numerous  family  in  that  county.  The 
original  name,  I  have  heard,  was  McGregor  of  Scotland,  and  the  an 
cestors  are  said  to  have  sought  a  refuge  in  this  country,  after  the 
defeat  at  Culloden.  The  Major  showed  marks  of  Highland  extrac 
tion.  He  was  large,  robust  and  somewhat  corpulent,  with  a  round 
florid  face,  short,  curling,  sandy  hair,  and  blue-gray  eyes.  He  was 
strong  of  limb,  fiery  in  temperament,  hospitable,  warm-hearted  and 
rough.  He  was  a  magistrate  and  ex-qffici.o  a  conservator  of  the  peace, 
which,  however,  he  was  as  ready,  on  provocation,  to  break  as  to  pre 
serve.  At  times  he  was  kind  and  playful  with  the  boys  \  but  wo 
betide  the  unfortunate  boy  or  man  who  became  the  object  of  his  dis 
pleasure  ! 

"  Mrs.  Magruder  was  the  sister  of  Col.  Thomas  Beall  of  George 
town,  and  daughter,  as  I  have  understood,  of  the  gentleman  after 
whom  Georgetown  took  its  name — George  Beall  of  that  place.  She 
was  a  small,  spare  old  lady  who  had  been  handsome.  Her  counte 
nance  was  strongly  expressive  of  her  gentle  disposition.  The  contrast 
with  her  husband  was  very  striking.  She  was  quiet  and  generally 
silent.  I  do  not  remember  having  heard  her  speak  a  dozen  times  in 
the  two  years  I  lived  in  the  family,  and  have  forgotten  the  note  of 
her  voice.  But  the  Major's  I  remember  as  the  loud  north  wind  that 
used  to  rock  the  house  and  sweep  the  snow-covered  field.  They  had 
a  large  family  —  seven  sons  and  four  daughters.  The  grown  sons 
were  numerous  and  loud  enough  to  keep  the  house  alive,  being  some 
what  of  the  Osbaldiston  order,  except  that  there  was  not  a  Rashleigh 
among  them ; — nor  was  there  a  Di  Vernon  among  the  girls. 

"  Besides  the  parents  and  children,  there  were  divers  incumbents 


CHAP.  I.]  EARLY  ACQUAINTANCES.  37 

wno  drew  their  rations  in  the  Major's  house.  There  was,  for  a  short 
time,  a  Col.  Hamilton,  who  used  to  wear  leather  clothes, — coat  and 
waistcoat  included,  —  a  thin,  keen,  active  man,  a  little  above  middle 
age,  who,  I  was  told,  had  been  a  Regulator  in  North  Carolina,  — 
though  I  was  then  ignorant  what  the  word  meant,  —  and  that  he  was 
rather  in  concealment  and  under  the  Major's  protection. 

"  Then  there  was  an  interesting  old  gentleman,  by  name  Thomas 
Flint,  who  had  been  an  English  schoolmaster,  and  had  educated  all 
the  family  except  George  and  Patrick,  who  were  destined  for  a  classical 
education  and  a  learned  profession.  Mr.  Flint  was  upwards  of  fifty, 
"  in  fair  round  belly  with  good  capon  lined" — a  good-looking  man  with 
a  dark  complexion,  sharp,  black  eyes  and  shaggy  brows.  He  had  a 
son  who  was  Major  Magruder's  overseer. 

"  Besides  these,  there  were  two  apprentices  : — one  of  them,  Zack, 
a  wild,  slovenly,  blackguard  boy,  cut  out  by  nature  for  a  strolling 
player,  having  a  strong  inclination  to  repeat  fragments  of  speeches 
and  scraps  of  plays  which  he  had  learned  from  the  boys  of  the  school ; 
— the  other  was  Harry,  the  son  of  the  miller  who  was  in  the  Major's 
employment,  a  modest  and  interesting  young  man,  who  disappeared 
in  a  mysterious  way,  the  particulars  of  which  I  have  forgotten. 

"  The  mansion  was  a  large  two-storied  brick  house,  built  not  long 
before  I  went  there.  In  this  his  family  proper  lived.  Within  a  few 
feet  of  it  stood  the  old  house,  which  had  been  the  former  residence 
of  the  family,  but  which  was  now  occupied,  at  one'  end,  by  the  over 
seer,  and  in  the  residue  of  its  chambers  by  the  school-boys  and  the 
two  apprentices.  Here,  at  night,  we  got  our  lessons  and  more 
frequently  played  our  pranks. 

"There  were  two  boarders,  besides  myself:  Walter  Jones,  son  of 
Mr.  Edward  Jones,  a  rich  planter  of  Frederick  county,  and  Richard 
Harwood  from  Anne  Arundel, — in  after-times  one  of  the  Judges  of 
a  District  in  the  State.  For  a  short  time  the  late  Col.  Thomas  Davis 
of  Montgomery,  was  one  of  our  boarders  and  schoolfellows. — So  that 
Major  Magruder's  household  embraced  not  less  than  twenty  white 
persons.  To  these  there  was  a  constant  addition,  by  visitors  to  the 
young  people  of  the  family.  It  was,  in  fact,  an  active,  bustling, 
merry,  noisy  family,  always  in  motion,  and  often  in  commotion.  To 
me  it  was  painfully  contrasted  with  the  small,  quiet,  affectionate 

VOL.  I.  —  4 


38  EARLY  ACQUAINTANCES.  [1772—1783. 

establishment  of  Mrs.  Love.  There  I  had  been  the  petted  child  and 
supreme  object  of  attention.  Here  I  was  lost  in  the  multitude,  un 
noticed,  unthought  of,  and  left  to  make  my  way  and  take  care  of 
myself  as  well  as  I  could.  My  hair,  which,  under  the  discipline  of 
Mrs.  Love's  daughters,  was  as  clean  and  soft  as  silk,  now  lost  its 
beauty.  I  had  been  spoiled  by  indulgence,  and  was  really  unfit  to 
take  care  of  myself.  I  did  not  know  how  to  go  about  it.  Yet  there 
was  no  one  to  take  care  of  me,  or  who  showed  any  interest  in  me 
except  Harry,  the  miller's  son.  Young  as  I  was,  I  had  reflection 
enough  to  compare  the  two  scenes  in  which  I  had  lived,  to  feel  my 
present  desolation,  and  to  sigh  over  the  past.  The  tune  of  Roslin 
Castle  never  recurred  to  my  memory  without  filling  my  eyes  with 
tears. 

"  There  was  another  circumstance  which  embittered  my  residence 
at  Mr.  Magruder's.  One  of  my  companions  was  ill-tempered,  and  I 
do  not  know  by  what  antipathy,  I  became  the  peculiar  object  of  his 
tyranny.  There  was  that  in  my  situation  which  would  have  disarmed 
a  generous  temper.  I  was  a  small,  feebly-grown,  delicate  boy;  an 
orphan,  and  a  poor  one  too :  but  these  circumstances  seemed  rather 
to  invite  than  to  allay  the  hostility  of  this  fierce  young  man.  During 
the  two  years  that  it  was  my  misfortune  to  be  a  boarder  in  the  house 
and  his  schoolfellow,  I  suffered  a  wanton  barbarity  that  so  degraded 
and  cowed  my  spirit  that  I  wonder  I  have  ever  recovered  from  it. 
In  this  large  family  he  was,  however,  my  only  persecutor.  The  rest 
were  content  to  let  me  alone,  and  I  became,  at  length,  well  content 
to  be  so.  I  can  recall  here  the  first  experience  I  had  of  the  refuge 
and  comfort  of  solitude.  Often  have  I  gone  to  bed  long  before  I  was 
sleepy,  and  long  before  any  other  member  of  the  household,  that  I 
might  enjoy  in  silence  and  to  myself  the  hopes  which  my  imagina 
tion  never  failed  to  set  before  me.  These  imaginings  rest  on  my 
memory  with  the  distinctness  of  yesterday.  I  looked  forward  to  the 
time  when  I  should  be  a  young  man  and  should  have  my  own  office 
of  two  rooms,  my  own  servant  and  the  means  of  receiving  and  enter 
taining  my  friends  with  elegant  liberality,  my  horse  and  fine  equip 
ments,  a  rich  wardrobe,  and  these  all  recommended  by  such  manners 
and  accomplishments  as  should  again  restore  me  to  such  favour  and 
affectionate  intercourse  as  I  had  known  at  Mrs.  Love's.  I  never 


CHAP.  I.]  MUSIC.  39 

dreamt  of  any  other  revenge  on  my  tormenting  schoolfellow,  than  to 
eclipse  him  and  reduce  him  to  sue  to  me  for  friendship.  Except 
these  waking  dreams  which  live  so  vividly  in  my  remembrance,  there 
are  out  few  pleasant  incidents  to  connect  my  recollections  with  those 
two  years.  Yet  there  are  a  few.  One  was  the  gratification  I  took  in 
the  visits  of  company  to  the  house.  Sometimes  the  young  folks 
played  cards,  and  I  was  not  forbidden  to  sit  in  the  room  and  see  what 
was  going  on.  One  of  these  visiters  is  a  gentleman,  I  believe,  now 
living — Charles  Jones.  Although  a  very  small  boy,  I  recollect  dis 
tinctly  the  drollery  for  which  he  is,  even  yet,  so  much  distinguished, 
and  with  which  he  used  then  to  set  the  tables  in  a  roar.  Maxwell 
Armstrong,  our  Latin  usher,  —  and  the  only  popular  usher  I  have 
ever  known — was  another  of  the  visiters,  and  a  great  favourite 
with  me. 

"  There  were  two  other  visiters  whom  I  saw  only  once  each  at  the 
Major's,  but  whose  visits  led  to  one  of  my  small  accomplishments. 
Doctor  Charles  Beatty  of  Georgetown,  brought  up  his  flute  and  regaled 
the  ladies  one  evening  in  the  garden  with  his  music.  A  Mr.  Eckland, 
a  Hessian  or  Prussian,  a  teacher  of  music  in  Georgetown,  also  came 
up  on  one  occasion,  when  there  was  a  great  effort  to  get  a  musical 
instrument  for  him  to  play  on.  The  house  afforded  nothing  better 
than  a  wretched  fiddle, — on  which  Major  M.  used  to  play,  for  his 
children,  the  only  tune  he  knew,  with  these  words — 

'Three  or  four  sheepskins 

Wrong  sides  outwards ; 
Cut  them  down,  cut  them  down, 

Cut  them  down  and   tan  them.' 

"  There  was,  besides,  a  cracked  flute,  from  which  no  one  of  the 
family  had  ever  been  able  to  draw  a  note.  Mr.  Eckland  repudiated 
the  fiddle,  but,  with  the  aid  of  a  little  bees-wax  to  stop  the  crack,  and 
a  little  water  to  wash  and  wet  the  bore,  he  made  the  flute  discourse 
most  eloquent  music.  —  What  a  strange  thing  is  memory  !  I  can  see 
the  man  at  this  moment,  and  hear  him  strike  up  '  the  "White  Cockade ' 
—  for  this  was  the  first  tune  he  played ;  and  he  threw  it  off  with  a 
spirit  and  animation  of  which  Dr.  Beatty  had  given  me  no  idea. 
Thereafter,  whenever  the  room  was  empty,  I  used  to  steal  to  the  book- 
press  in  which  that  old  flute  was  kept,  and  whispering  in  the  aperture 


40  A  FOX  HUNT.  [1772—1783. 

— for  I  could  not  blow,  and  dared  not,  if  I  could — try  to  finger  such 
tunes  as  I  knew.  In  this  way  I  learned  to  play  several  tunes,  of 
which  Yankee  Doodle  was  the  chief,  before  I  could  fill  the  flute  with 
a  single  note. 

"  On  one  occasion,  Dr.  Smith,  of  Georgetown  —  the  father  of  the 
very  respectable  family  of  that  name  now  at  that  place,  came  up  to 
Major  M's.  with  two  or  three  other  gentlemen,  bringing  with  him  a 
large  pack  of  hounds,  in  preparation  for  a  fox-chase.  This  was  a  new 
incident  to  me,  and  full  of  the  liveliest  interest.  On  this  occasion  old 
Mr.  Flint  developed  an  accomplishment  of  which  I  had  never  sus 
pected  him.  Having  got  pretty  '  high  up '  with  drinking,  he  sang 
a  hunting  song,  and  one  of  the  old  songs  of  Robin  Hood,  of  which 
my  children  have  often  heard  me  sing  several  verses,  caught  from 
Mr.  Flint's  exhibition  at  this  frolic.  His  picture  is  now  before  me — • 
for  he  acted  as  well  as  sang,  and  repeated  his  verses  as  long  as  any 
one  would  listen.  I  slept  but  little  the  night  before  the  hunt,  and 
before  day-break  I  was  waked  from  my  slumbers,  by  the  turning  of 
the  hounds  out  of  the  cellar,  and  the  uproar  raised  in  the  yard  by 
them  and  the  horns.  I  dressed  myself  quickly,  and  sighed,  as  the 
party  moved  off,  because  I  could  not  follow  them.  On  my  way  to 
school  that  morning,  with  what  longing  regret  did  I  listen  to  the  dis 
tant  notes  of  the  hounds  in  full  cry  upon  their  track,  until  the  last 
sound  was  lost  behind  the  remote  woodland !  To  those  who  have  not 
an  ear  for  sounds,  nor  an  eye  for  pictures,  it  would  be  incredible  if  I 
were  to  describe  the  effect  which  this  scene  had  upon  my  imagination  '} 
and  to  this  day  I  know  nothing,  in  the  way  of  spectacle  or  music,  to 
compare,  for  its  power  of  excitement,  with  a  well-equipped  and  gay 
party  of  hunters,  following  a  pack  of  hounds  in  full  cry." 

Here  ends  all  that  we  are  able  to  obtain  from  these  simple  and 
pleasant  recollections.  The  writer  broke  them  off  abruptly  at  this 
early  stage  of  his  history,  purposing  to  resume  them  when  the  graver 
duties  of  his  high  office  might  allow  him  again  the  refreshment  of 
these  draughts  of  youthful  memory.  His  busy  professional  life  for 
bade  this  indulgence,  and  has  left  us  reason  to  regret  that  the  same 
hand  has  not  sketched  his  continued  advance  to  manhood. 


CHAPTER  II. 

1783  —  1787. 

IMAGINATIVE    TEMPERAMENT. HIS    STUDIES. WHOLESOME   IN 
FLUENCE    OF    MR.  HUNT. HIS  LIBRARY. SKETCHES  BY  CRUSE. 

— VERSE-MAKING. FIRST   LITERARY   EFFORT,   A   PROSE    SATIRE 

ON    THE    USHER. ITS    CONSEQUENCES. A    SCHOOL   INCIDENT. 

A   VICTORY. VISIT    TO    THE  COURT-HOUSE   OF   MONTGOMERY. 

MR.  DORSEY. THE   MOOT   COURT. ITS  CONSTITUTION. SCHOOL 

EXERCISES. 

THE  memoir  which  we  have  just  closed  presents  us  nearly  all  that 
is  known  of  William  Wirt  up  to  his  eleventh  year.  It  sufficiently 
indicates  the  temperament  of  the  boy,  and  gives  us  no  slight  glimpses 
of  the  future  aspirations  of  the  man.  The  lively  pictures  which  it 
presents  of  those  scenes  and  persons  which  dwelt  on  his  memory, 
show  how  keenly  his  youthful  observation  was  impressed  by  the  quaint 
and  grotesque  images  which  surrounded  him.  They  show,  too,  with 
what  a  relish  he  noted  the  simple  rural  objects  and  employments  that 
were  familiar  to  his  childhood,  and  how  true  an  eye  and  how  true  a 
heart  he  had  for  the  kindly  things  and  influences  that  fell  in  the  way 
of  his  youthful  experience.  These  qualities  of  mind  and  character 
continued  to  expand  during  his  life,  and  were  the  constant  source  of 
that  attraction  which  encircled  him,  to  the  last  of  his  days,  with  troops 
of  admiring  friends. 

We  shall  have  occasion  to  note,  more  than  once  in  the  course  of 
these  pages,  the  poetical  complexion  of  Mr.  Wirt's  mind,  the  some 
what  prurient  predominance  of  his  imagination,  and  the  alacrity  with 
whkh  he  was  ever  ready  to  digress  from  the  actual  to  the  ideal  of 
life.  The  almost  inseparable  quality  of  such  a  temperament  is  diffi 
dence,  that  shy  reserve  which  is  much  more  frequently  the  result  of 
pride  and  a  high  self-estimate  than  of  humility.  A  sensibility  to  the 
criticism  which  our  perception  enables  us  to  foresee  and  expect,  from 
4*  •  (41) 


42  HIS  STUDIES.  [1783—1787. 

those  who  are  capable  of  a  shrewd  insight  into  our  conduct,  is  most 
generally  the  source  of  that  modesty  which  is  observable  in  an  inge 
nuous  and  quick-sighted  boy.  Its  usual  accompaniment  is  an  exterior 
of  thoughtfulness  and  quiet  observation  in  the  presence  of  the  world, 
united  with  a  gay,  light-hearted  ease  amongst  those  in  whom  house 
hold  association  and  familiar  endearment  have  begotten  that  confidence 
which  takes  away  the  apprehension  of  censure.  The  observant  eye 
of  his  aunt,  with  whom  the  orphan  child  had  been  domesticated  in 
his  tenderest  age,  detected  this  trait  in  his  character,  in  the  first  years 
of  their  intercourse }  and,  noticing  these  alternatives  of  a  playful  and 
thoughtful  temper,  she  once  remarked,  when  his  uncle  was  debating 
with  her  the  question  of  his  education  —  "  when  I  look  at  that  dear 
child,  he  scarcely  seems  one  of  us,  and  I  weep  when  I  think  of  him." 
Such  an  expression  would  seem  to  indicate  some  early  presage,  afforded 
by  the  boy,  of  that  superiority  which  his  riper  years  developed. 

Wirt  remained  at  Mr.  Hunt's  school,  in  Montgomery  county,  until 
it  was  broken  up  in  1787.  During  the  last  two  years  of  this  period 
he  was  an  inmate  of  Mr.  Hunt's  family.  We  shall  often  find,  in  the 
course  of  his  correspondence,  a  pleasant  remembrance  of  this  family 
and  its  dwelling-place,  which  bore  the  classical  name  of  the  Tus- 
culum. 

Mr.  Hunt  seems  to  have  exercised  a  happy  influence  over  the  cha 
racter  of  his  pupil.  He  was  a  man  of  cultivated  mind,  liberal  study 
and  philosophic  temper.  He  possessed,  what  in  those  days  was  no 
common  advantage,  a  pretty  good  library.  He  had,  besides,  a  pair 
of  globes  and  some  instruments  of  a  philosophical  apparatus.  He 
was  communicative,  and  quick  to  appreciate  the  tastes  of  his  scholars, 
and,  from  all  accounts,  kindly  and  indulgent  in  his  intercourse  with 
them. 

Young  Wirt  found  in  this  association  much  to  advance  him  on  his 
way.  He  acquired  some  little  insight  into  astronomy,  some  taste  for 
physics,  some  relish  for  classical  study,  but  above  all,  some  sharpness 
of  appetite  for  the  amusements  afforded  by  "  the  run  of  the  library." 
He  studied  Josephus,  Guy  of  Warwick  and  Peregrine  Pickle,  the  old 
dramas,  Pope,  Addison  and  Home's  Elements  of  Criticism,  with  equal 
avidity  and  with  indiscriminate  faith.  The  library  cheated  him  out 
of  many  a  worse  recreation,  and  whilst  it  captivated  his  boyish  ima- 


CHAP.  II.1  HIS  STUDIES.  43 

gination  with  its  world  of  treasures,  it  served  also  to  implant  in  his 
mind  that  love  of  various  lore,  which  seeks  its  enjoyment  among  the 
flowers  that  enamel  the  broad  fields  of  literature,  rather  than  among 
the  gems  which  lie  in  the  depths  only  accessible  to  the  miner. 

It  is  sometimes  regarded  as  the  misfortune  of  sprightly  and  appre 
hensive  genius,  that  it  is  apt  to  be  lured  from  its  graver  and  more 
profitable  toil  by  the  attractions  of  this  vagrant  course  of  reading. 
If  this  be  true  in  any  instance,  it  cannot  be  denied  that  many  men, 
who  have  won  distinction  by  their  intellectual  accomplishments,  have 
been  able  to  trace  their  first  impulses  towards  an  honourable  renown, 
to  the  opportunities  afforded  by  a  miscellaneous  library,  and  to-  the 
tastes'which  it  has  enabled  them  to  improve.  Mr.  Wirt,  in  after  life, 
was  accustomed  to  speak  in  terms  of  regret  of  the  habit  of  unmetho 
dical  reading  which,  acquired  in  early  youth,  had,  as  he  supposed, 
somewhat  injuriously  diverted  his  time  from  systematic  study.  He 
was,  we  are  inclined  to  believe,  mistaken  in  his  estimate  of  this  dis 
advantage.  There  seems  to  have  been,  in  his  case,  quite  a  sufficient 
concentration  of  methodised  study,  in  the  pursuit  of  his  own  laborious 
profession,  to  justify  and  commend  the  habit  of  light  and  excursive 
reading  in  all  other  departments  of  science  or  literature.  He  has  also 
afforded  many  agreeable  manifestations,  that  the  zealous  and  persever 
ing  lawyer  had  cultivated,  with  no  small  success,  that  general  scholar 
ship  which  is  so  seldom  combined  with  professional  excellence,  and 
which  constitutes,  wherever  it  exists,  the  most  graceful  and  attractive 
of  its  adjuncts.  Genius  generally  finds  its  own  path.  Its  first  instinct 
is  to  wander  over  the  surface  of  its  own  world,  until  it  may  light  upon 
that  which  shall  gratify  its  proper  appetite.  Its  affinities  prompt  it 
to  ramble  in  search  of  the  congenial  things  nature  has  provided  for 
it  j  and  it  seldom  falls  out  that  the  errant  spirit  does  not,  in  due  time, 
come  to  its  appointed  destination.  It  may  be  said  to  have  been  Mr. 
Wirt's  characteristic  quality  of  mind,  to  perceive  and  keenly  to  relish 
the  riches  of  that  upper  world  of  thought,  which  is  pictured  to  us 
under  the  felicitous  designation  of  humane  letters.  These,  compre 
hending  in  their  scope  nearly  everything  that  is  graceful  in  aesthetics, 
everything  that  is  beautiful  in  art,  glowing  in  poetry,  and  eloquent  in 
thought,  present  to  the  student  a  field  of  various  observation,  which 
can  only  be  cultivated  and  enjoyed  by  the  most  apparently  desultory 


44  HIS  STUDIES.  [1783—1787. 

Btudy.  He,  therefore,  who  has  a  true  perception  of  the  delights  of 
such  study,  may  scarcely  fail  to  be  accounted  a  capricious  and  ram 
bling  reader,  whenever  his  pursuit  shall  come  to  be  measured  by  the 
severer  rules  which  the  student  of  one  science  finds  it  necessary  to 
observe  in  his  own  labour. 

For  many  particulars  relating  to  the  earlier  portion  of  Mr.  "Wirt's 
life,  I  am  happy  to  express  my  obligations  to  a  rapid  but  careful  bio 
graphical  sketch,  which  was  written  by  Peter  Hoffman  Cruse  of  Bal 
timore,  in  1832,  under  circumstances  which  give  it  great  value  as  an 
authentic  narrative,  and  which  is  not  less  worthy  of  commendation 
for  its  graceful  and  scholarlike  style  of  composition.  I  should  scarcely 
do  justice  to  my  subject,  if  I  forbore  to  avail  myself  of  the  material 
presented  to  me  from  a  source  so  friendly  and,  at  the  same  time,  ?•• 
accurate.  I  shall  not  scruple  to  use  it  as  often  as  I  may  find  occa 
sion.* 

*  The  sketch  referred  to  in  the  text  was  written  by  Mr.  Cruse  upon  an 
engagement  with  the  Messrs.  Harpers  of  New  York  in  1832,  just  after  Mr. 
Wirt's  nomination  as  a  candidate  for  the  Presidency,  and  was  designed  to 
accompany  a  republication  of  Mr.  Wirt's  literary  productions.  This  repub- 
lication, —  for  reasons  with  which  1  arn  not  acquainted  —  did  not  proceed 
beyond  the  reprint  of  the  British  Spy,  to  which  the  biographical  sketch  I 
have  alluded  to  was  prefixed.  At  the  time  of  the  nomination  of  Mr.  Wirt 
for  the  Presidency,  by  a  singular  coincidence  of  circumstances  a  narrative 
of  his  life  was  in  contemplation  from  one  or  two  quarters  totally  discon 
nected  from  the  political  object  which  may  be  supposed  to  have  made  it 
then  a  matter  of  interest  to  the  public.  Mr.  Longacre  was  engaged  in  his 
Work  of  National  Portraits,  and  had  applied  to  Mr.  Wirt  for  some  materials 
for  a  sketch  of  his  history  to  accompany  an  engraved  likeness  for  this  work. 
The  task  of  furnishing  these  had  been  committed  to  Judge  Carr  of  the  Court 
of  Appeals  of  Virginia.  Mr.  Salmon  P.  Chase,  a  friend  of  Mr.  Wirt's  nomi 
nation,  and,  still  more  intimately,  his  personal  friend,  a  gentleman  accom 
plished  in  elegant  letters, — recently  brought  more  conspicuously  to  the  view 
of  the  country  as  a  Senator  of  the  United  States  from  Ohio — had  also  taken 
the  matter  of  a  biography  into  his  hands.  But  the  enterprise  of  the  Messrs. 
Harpers  being  stimulated  by  a  more  direct  reference  to  the  nomination,  took 
the  place  of  all  other  biographical  projects,  and  consigned  the  task  to  the 
very  competent  hands  of  Mr.  Cruse. 

Cruse  was  a  finished  scholar,  of  exquisite  taste,  and  gifted  with  talents 
which  would  have  secured  him  an  enviable  eminence  in  the  literature  of 
this  country.  He  fell  a  victim  to  the  cholera,  in  Baltimore,  on  the  Gth  of 
September,  1832,  not  long  after  the  completion  of  the  biography  above 
mentioned.  The  country  thus  lost  one  whose  accomplishment  in  letters 
was  just  beginning  to  bring  him  reputation,  and  whose  career,  if  he  had 
lived,  would  have  been  distinguished  by  the  finest  exhibitions  of  intellectual 
excellence.  The  materials  for  his  sketch  were  derived  from  an  intimate 


CHAP.  II.]  SKETCHES  BY  CRUSE.  45 

Mr.  Hunt's  library  suggested  to  our  pupil  some  effort  of  rivalry 
with  one  of  its  heroes,  in  the  dainty  occupation  of  verse-making.  He 
read  how  Pope  had  first  tempted  his  muse  at  twelve  years  of  age. 
He  himself  was  now  thirteen  : — why  shouldn't  he  versify  as  well  ? 
He  tried  his  hand  at  it,  and,  very  naturally,  failed.  He  accordingly 
resolved  that  Nature  had  not  made  him  a  versifier.  There  was,  how 
ever,  the  world  of  prose  open  to  him,  and  forthwith  he  set  out  upon 
that  quest.  Amongst  several  essays,  in  this  sort,  one  fell  into  Mr. 
Hunt's  hands,  and  was  most  agreeably  received,  with  abundance  of 
praise.  I  must  give  the  history  of  it  as  it  comes  from  the  friendly 
biographer.* 

"  It  was  engendered  by  a  school  incident,  and  was  a  piece  of 
revenge  more  legitimate  than  schoolboy  invention  is  apt  to  inflict 
when  sharpened  by  wrongs,  real  or  imaginary.  There  was  an  usher 
at  the  school ;  and  this  usher,  who  was  more  learned  and  methodical 
than  even-tempered,  was  one  morning  delayed  in  the  customary 
routine  by  the  absence  of  his  principal  scholar,  who  was  young  Wirt 
himself.  In  his  impatience  he  went  often  to  the  door,  and  espying 
some  boys  clinging,  like  a  knot  of  bees,  to  a  cherry-tree  not  far  off, 
he  concluded  that  the  expected  absentee  was  of  the  number,  and 
nursed  his  wrath  accordingly.  The  truth  was  that  the  servant  of  a 
neighbour,  with  whom  Wirt  was  boarding  at  the  time,  had  gone  that 
morning  to  mill,  and  the  indispensable  breakfast  had  been  delayed  by 
his  late  return.  This  apology,  however,  was  urged  in  vain  on  the 
usher,  who  charged,  in  corroboration,  the  plunder  of  the  cherry-tree : 

personal  acquaintance  with  Mr.  Wirt,  whose  just  appreciation  of  him  was 
shown  in  the  most  cordial  and  confidential  social  communion.  The  inci 
dents  of  this  biographical  sketch  were  supplied  by  the  friends  of  Mr.  Wirt, 
by  his  family,  and  by  the  biographer's  own  personal  knowledge  of  his 
subject.  The  sketch  itself  was  submitted  to  Mr.  Wirt,  and  so  far  corrected 
by  him  as  to  secure  it  against  any  inaccuracy  of  statement  of  fact.  I  may 
add,  that  my  own  constant  intercourse  with  Mr.  Cruse,  during  the  prepara 
tion  of  that  sketch,  and  a  familiar  acquaintance  with  the  individual  to 
whom  it  refers,  enable  me  to  give  an  additional  assurance  of  its  authenticity. 
I  can  only  indulge,  now,  the  unavailing  regret  that  its  author,  so  rich  as  he 
was  in  the  arts  of  "wit,  eloquence,  and  poesy,"  had  not  survived  to  unite 
with  me  in  the  grateful  labour  of  this  task,  to  render  a  joint  tribute  of  our 
homage  to  the  distinguished  subject  of  our  memoirs- — partaking,  as  we  both 
did,  in  equal  degree,  of  the  pleasure  of  his  society  and  the  kindness  of  his 
regard. 

*  Cruse's  Sketch. 


46  ENCOUNTER  WITH  AN  USHER.  [1783—1787. 

and  thongh  this  was  as  stoutly  as  truly  rejoined  to  be  the  act  of  an 
English  school,  hard  by,  the  recitation  of  Master  Wirt  proceeded 
under  very  threatening  prognostics  of  storm.  The  lesson  was  in 
Cicero,  and  at  every  hesitation  of  the  reciter,  the  eloquent  volume, 
brandished  by  the  yet  chafing  tutor,  descended  within  an  inch  of  his 
head,  —  without  quailing  his  facetiousness  however,  —  for  he  said, 
archly,  ( Take  care,  or  you  '11  kill  me/  We  have  heard  better-timed 
jests  since,  from  the  dexterous  orator,  for  the  next  slip  brought  a 
blow  in  good  earnest,  which,  being  as  forcible  as  if  logic  herself,  with 
her  l  closed  fist/  had  dealt  it,  felled  our  hero  to  the  ground.  i  I  '11 
pay  you  for  this,  if  I  live/  said  the  fallen  champion,  as  he  rose  from 
the  field. 

" '  Pay  me/  will  you  V  said  the  usher,  quite  furious ;  '  you  will 
never  live  to  do  that/ 

"  'Yes  I  will/   said  the  boy. 

"  Our  youth  was  an  author,  be  it  remembered,  and  that  is  not  a 
race  to  take  an  injury,  much  less  an  affront,  calmly.  The  quill,  too, 
was  a  fair  weapon  against  an  usher ;  and,  by  way  of  vent  to  his  indig 
nation  at  this  and  other  continued  outrages,  bnt  with  no  view  to  what 
so  seriously  fell  out  from  it,  in  furtherance  of  his  revenge,  he  indited, 
some  time  afterward,  an  ethical  essay  on  Anger.  In  this,  after  due 
exhibition  of  its  unhappy  effects,  which,  it  may  be,  would  have 
enlightened  Seneca,  though  he  has  himself  professed  to  treat  the 
same  subject,  he  reviewed  those  relations  and  functions  of  life  most 
exposed  to  the  assaults  of  this  fury.  A  parent  with  an  undutiful 
son,  said  our  moralist,  must  often  be  very  angry,  a  master  with  his 
servant,  an  innkeeper  with  his  guests ; — but  it  is  an  usher  that  must 
the  oftenest  be  vexed  by  this  bad  passion,  and,  right  or  wrong,  find 
himself  in  a  terrible  rage.  And  so  he  went  on  in  a  manner  very  edi 
fying  and  very  descriptive  of  the  case,  character  and  manner  of  the 
expounder  of  Cicero. 

"  Well  pleased  with  his  work,  our  author  found  a  most  admiring 
reader  in  an  elder  boy,  who,  charmed  with  the  mischief  as  much  as 
the  wit  of  the  occasion,  pronounced  it  a  most  excellent  performance, 
and  very  fit  for  a  Saturday  morning's  declamation.  In  vain  did  our 
wit  object  strenuously  the  dangers  of  this  mode  of  publication.  The 
esssay  was  got  by  heart,  and  declaimed  in  the  presence  of  the  school 


CHAP.  II.]  A  VICTORY.  47 

and  of  the  usher  himself,  who,  enraged  at  the  satire,  demanded  the 
writer,  otherwise  threatening  the  declaimer  with  the  rod.  His  mag 
nanimity  was  not  proof  against  this,  and  he  betrayed  the  incognito  of 
our  author,  who  happened  the  same  evening  to  be  in  his  garret,  when 
master  usher,  the  obnoxious  satire  in  hand,  came  into  the  apartment 
below  to  lay  his  complaint  before  his  principal.  Mr.  Hunt's  house 
was  one  of  those  one-story  rustic  mansions,  yet  to  be  seen  in  Mary 
land,  where  the  floor  of  the  attic,  without  the  intervention  of  ceiling, 
forms  the  roof  of  the  apartment  below;  so  that  the  culprit  could 
easily  be  the  hearer,  and  even  the  partial  spectator,  of  the  inquisition 
held  on  his  case.  i  Let  us  see  this  offensive  libel/  said  the  preceptor  ] 
and  awful  were  the  first  silent  moments  of  its  perusal,  which  were 
broken,  first,  by  a  suppressed  titter,  and,  finally,  to  the  mighty  relief 

of  the  listener,  by  a  loud  burst  of  laughter.     i  Pooh  !  pooh  !  Mr. 

this  is  but  the  sally  of  a  lively  boy,  and  best  say  no  more  about  it : 
besides  that,  in  for 'o  conscienlia,  we  can  hardly  find  him  guilty  of  the 
publication  V 

"  This  was  a  victory ;  and  when  Mr.  Hunt  left  the  room,  the  con 
queror,  tempted  to  sing  his  '  lo  Triumphe'  in  some  song  allusive  to 
the  country  of  the  discomfited  party,  who  was  a  foreigner,  was  put  to 
flight  by  the  latter's  rushing  furiously  into  the  attic,  and  snatching 
from  under  his  pillow  some  hickories,  the  fasces  of  his  office,  and 
inflicting  some  smart  strokes  on  the  flying  satirist,  who  did  not  stay, 
like  Voltaire,  to  write  a  receipt  for  them.  The  usher  left  the  school  in 
dudgeon  not  long  afterward,  like  the  worthy  in  the  doggrel  rhymes — 

'The  hero  who  did  'sist  upon  't, 
He  would  n't  be  deputy  to  Mr.  Hunt.' 

"  Many  years  after,  the  usher  and  his  scholar  met  again.  Age  and 
poverty  had  overtaken  the  poor  man,  and  his  former  pupil  had  the 
opportunity  of  showing  him  some  kindnesses  which  were  probably  not 
lessened  by  the  recollection  of  this  unpremeditated  revenge." 

This  was  quite  a  prosperous  entrance  into  the  world  of  letters. 
The  pleasant  remembrance  of  this  early  triumph  is  one,  amongst  many 
evidences  which  I  may  have  occasion  to  notice  hereafter,  of  the  earnest 
appreciation  with  which  the  distinguished  lawyer  was  wont  to  regard 
the  pursuit  of  literary  fame,  which,  as  it  seemed,  an  adverse  destiny 


48  THE  MOOT  COURT.  [1783—1787. 

had  constantly  placed  beyond  his  enjoyment,  though  never,  as  the 
reader  of  these  pages  will  find,  beyond  his  hopes. 

Mr.  Hunt's  discipline  contributed  to  awaken  the  ambition  of  his 
pupil  to  another  renown,  not  less  conspicuous  in  his  career.  Letters 
were  always  the  passion  of  William  Wirt,  —  a  passion  foredoomed 
against  enjoyment,  the  Tantalus  cup  of  his  life.  The  law  was,  in 
equal  degree,  his  chosen  field  of  eminence,  pursued  at  all  times  with 
the  eager  love  of  a  votary,  and,  more  propitious  to  him  than  its  rival, 
the  bountiful  source  of  fame  and  wealth.  His  first  introduction  to 
its  temple  was  at  this  era  of  his  boyhood.  Mr.  Hunt  was  in  the  habit 
of  taking  his  pupils  to  the  Montgomery  County  Court,  in  term  time, 
to  give  them  some  insight  into  those  mysteries  which  may  be  said  to 
be,  in  this  country,  the  ladder  to  all  preferment,  and  which  certainly 
at  the  date  of  this  adventure,  much  more  than  at  present,  was  the 
chief  aid  by  which  men  climbed  to  eminence.  The  court-house  was 
Borne  four  miles  from  the  school.  The  whole  troop,  headed  by  the 
Domine,  went  on  foot,  and  with  due  solemnity  entered  the  rustic  hall 
of  justice,  and  took  their  seats  in  the  unoccupied  jury-box.  Amongst 
the  pleaders  one  of  the  youngest  was  William  H.  Dorsey,  well  known 
to  the  school  and  neighbourhood.  Pie  was  clever,  quick,  and  coura 
geous  in  his  encounters  with  the  older  brethren;  so,  he  naturally 
became  the  favourite  of  the  schoolhouse  auditory,  and  grew  to  be  a 
hero  in  their  eyes.  Boys  have  a  great  instinct  for  hero  worship ;  — 
and  worship  with  them  is  imitation.  Dorsey  was  not  much  older  than 
the  oldest  of  those  who  sat  to  hear  and  applaud  him.  "  Why  should 
not  we  have  a  court  of  our  own  ?  "  "  Agreed."  —  So,  forthwith  we 
have  a  little  temple  of  Themis  in  Mr.  Hunt's  school-room.  Wirt  was 
appointed  to  draw  up  the  constitution.  He  was,  manifestly,  the 
Dorsey  of  the  new  forum.  The  constitution  was  prepared  with  all 
the  necessary  complications  to  meet  the  contingencies  of  its  broad  and 
delicate  jurisdiction,  and  was  reported,  with  a  modest  letter  of  apology 
for  its  imperfections,  by  the  author. 

This  was  his  first  forensic  essay.  There  were  occasional  speech- 
makings  in  public  at  the  school,  and  the  practice  also  of  "  capping 
verses"  —  one  of  those  ingenious  devices  by  which  off-hand  orators 
are  supplied  with  a  motley  of  shreds  and  patches  cut  from  classical 
cloths,  and  preserved  as  the  staple  for  that  impromptu  wit  and  learn- 


CHAP.  III.]  FRIENDS.  49 

ing  which,  in  the  last  age,  was  regarded  as  one  of  the  chief  ornaments 
of  scholarship,  —  now,  fortunately,  somewhat  jostled  aside  for  whole 
some  Anglo-Saxon.  In  all  these  exercitations  Wirt  was  a  common 
victor,  and  carried  off  whatsoever  prize  he  had  a  mind  to  win. 


CHAPTER   III. 

1787  —  1792. 

FRIENDS. — PETER    A.    CARNES. — BENJAMIN    EDWARDS.  —  NIMIAN 
EDWARDS. — BECOMES    A    TUTOR    IN    MR.    EDWARDS'    FAMILY. — 

USEFUL   EMPLOYMENT    OF    HIS    TIME. STUDIES. JOURNEY   TO 

GEORGIA. RETURNS  TO  MONTGOMERY  AND    STUDIES  LAW  WITH 

W.    P.    HUNT.  —  REMOVES    TO    VIRGINIA. STUDIES    WITH    MR. 

SWANN. — IS  ADMITTED  TO  PRACTISE  BY  THE  CULPEPER  COURT. 

MR.  HUNT'S  school  was  discontinued  in  the  year  1787.  Wirt 
was  now  in  his  fifteenth  year.  But  little  remained  of  his  small  pa 
trimony,  and  he  was  brought  to  the  necessity  of  seeking  the  means  to 
support  himself.  He  was  not  without  friends.  His  happy  and  con 
fiding  temper  attracted  the  good-will  of  his  schoolfellows.  His  talents 
won  the  esteem  of  his  teachers.  The  sympathy  excited  by  his 
orphanage  and  the  humility  of  his  deportment  brought  him  more 
than  one  protector. 

Mr.  Peter  A.  Carnes  was  an  early  patron  and  most  useful  friend 
to  our  pupil.  This  gentleman  belonged  to  the  bar  of  Maryland.  He 
was  the  owner  of  a  considerable  landed  estate  in  Charles  county,  and, 
being  a  cultivator  of  tobacco,  his  occasions,  both  as  a  planter  and  as  a 
professional  man,  often  brought  him  to  Bladensburg.  Here  he  was 
accustomed  to  take  his  lodgings  in  the  public  house  which  was  kept 
by  Jacob  Wirt.  He  thus  became  intimate  with  the  family,  and  had 
the  best  opportunities  to  observe  the  character  of  the  young  and 
sprightly  boy  whose  qualities  were  so  well  adapted  to  captivate  hia 
regard.  This  acquaintance  ripened  into  a  strong  and  lasting  attach  • 

VOL.  L  — 5  D 


-M""<  >-•        '  -  "v,i 

50  PETER  A.  CARNES.  [1787—1792. 

ment,  which  was   subsequently  manifested  in  the  most    substantial 
proofs  of  friendship  to  the  family. 

When  Jacob  Wirt  died,  Mr.  Carnes  charged  himself,  to  some  ex 
tent,  with  the  control  and  guidance  of  the  children  of  the  family,  of 
whom  the  eldest  was  Elizabeth,  the  senior  of  William  by  some  ten 
years.  There  is  reason  to  believe  that  Mr.  Carnes  assumed  the  di 
rection  of  the  education  of  William,  and  perhaps  of  Elizabeth,  and 
defrayed  the  expenses  of  this  charge  chiefly  out  of  his  own  pocket. 
William  was  consigned  by  him  to  the  care  of  Mr.  Dent,  in  Charles 
county ;  and  Mr.  Carnes  himself, — according  to  some  memorials  of 
his  family,  which  I  have  seen, — provided  for  him  that  comfortable 
homestead,  where  he  was  sheltered  and  made  happy  by  "  good  Mrs. 
Love"  and  her  family,  in  the  memory  of  which  the  grateful  pupil 
found  so  much  pleasure. 

Some  years  after  this  Mr.  Carnes  removed  to  Georgia  and  settled 
himself  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Augusta,  where  he  obtained  eminence 
as  a  lawyer.  Elizabeth  Wirt  was,  at  this  time,  grown  to  womanhood ; 
her  mother  was  dead,  and  she  and  her  brother,  we  may  suppose,  were 
left  in  a  condition  to  attract  the  sympathy  and  consideration  of  their 
good  friend.  Mr.  Carnes  sent  for  them  both  to  come  and  live  with 
him.  William's  destiny  directed  him  to  another  quarter;  but  his 
sister  obeyed  the  summons  of  her  kind  protector,  who,  soon  after  her 
arrival  in  Georgia,  fortified  his  title  to  that  relation  by  making  her 
his  wife. 

In  the  few  letters  and  other  papers  I  have  been  able  to  collect, 
referring  to  this  portion  of  Mr.  Wirt's  life,  there  is  abundant  evidence 
of  the  concern  of  Mr.  Carnes  in  the  fortunes  of  his  young  friend,  and 
of  the  valuable  service  rendered  by  him  to  his  protege,  at  that  age 
when  friendly  counsel  is  most  needed. 

Besides  Mr.  Carnes,  there  was  another  who  now  took  an  interest 
in  the  success  of  the  youthful  scholar,  and  whose  connection  with 
him  had  the  most  happy  influence  in  shaping  his  career  to  that  emi 
nence  which  he  afterwards  achieved.  This  friend  was  Benjamin 
Edwards,  at  that  date  a  resident  of  Montgomery  county.  His  son, 
Ninian  Edwards, — who,  in  after  years,  successively  held  the  post  of 
first  Territorial  Governor  of  Illinois,  then  Senator  from  that  State, 
and  afterwards  the  Governor  of  it — was  the  comrade  and  classmate 


<;HAP.  III.]  BENJAMIN   EDWARDS.  51 

of  Wirt  in  Mr.  Hunt's  school.  When  this  school  was  broken  up  and 
our  disbanded  student  had  returned  to  Bladensburg,  as  to  a  point 
from  which  to  make  a  new  start  in  life,  young  Edwards  happened  to 
take  with  him  to  his  father's  house  the  constitution  of  the  moot  court 
to  which  I  have  referred  in  a  former  chapter,  and,  along  with  it,  the 
report  or  prefatory  letter.  This  was  probably  exhibited  in  the  family 
as  one  of  those  achievements  which,  in  the  world  of  school-boys,  are 
magnified  for  purposes  of  renown,  with  a  more  affectionate  exaggera 
tion  than  we  are  apt  to  hear  of  it  in  the  larger  world.  This  triumph 
of  the  academy  thus  came  to  the  eye  of  Mr.  Edwards,  the  father,  and 
doubtless  with  no  modicum  of  praise  of  the  cleverness  of  the  author. 
The  result  was,  in  brief  .space,  a  letter  from  the  father  to  young  Wirt, 
inviting  him  to  a  station  in  the  family,  as  a  private  tutor  to  his  son 
Ninian  and  two  nephews,  who  were  all  contemplating  a  transfer  to 
college,  and  who  stood  in  need  of  some  preparatory  study,  which,  it 
was  thought,  Wirt  was  qualified  to  direct. 

This  invitation,  in  any  aspect  a  most  agreeable  one,  was  rendered 
still  more  acceptable  by  the  assurance  which  accompanied  it,  that  Mr. 
Edwards'  library  should  be  at  the  service  of  the  new  teacher,  for  the 
prosecution  of  his  own  reading.  A  summons  so  opportune  to  this 
new  field  of  duty,  was,  of  course,  quickly  and  gratefully  accepted, 
and  the  pupil,  now  converted  into  a  teacher,  was  most  comfortably 
established  at  Mount  Pleasant  —  as  this  seat  was  appropriately  called 
—  in  the  bosom  of  a  hospitable,  cultivated,  and  estimable  family. 

Mr.  Edwards  had  been  a  member  of  the  Legislature  of  Maryland ; 
— had  acquired  reputation  in  that  body  as  a  skilful  and  accomplished 
debater.  In  this  relation  he  had  attracted  the  commendation  and 
friendship  of  the  great  leader,  in  that  day,  of  the  politics  of  the  State 
— Samuel  Chase.  He  was,  besides,  well  versed  in  general  literature } 
his  mind  was  strong,  -direct,  and  trained  to  reflection ;  his  demeanour 
challenged  respect  and  esteem  by  its  dignity;  his  character,  public 
and  private,  was  distinguished  for  lofty  patriotism  and  inflexible  virtue. 
His  manners  were  affaJble,  and  particularly  agreeable  to  the  young, 
with  whom  he  was  fond  of  associating, — charming  them  by  instructive 
conversation,  with  the  benevolence  of  his  disposition,  and  his  ready 
sympathy  with  the  tastes  and  interests  of  his  youthful  auditory,  ren 
dered  manifold  in  its  useful  impressions  upon  them. 


52  BENJAMIN  EDWARDS,  [1787—1792. 

This  is  the  outline  of  the  character  Mr.  Wirt  was  wont  to  give  of 
his  early  friend.  How  fortunate  may  we  regard  him  in  being  brought 
within  the  sphere  of  such  a  man's  influence  !  It  is  one  of  the  most 
pleasant  traits  in  the  history  of  the  subject  of  this  biography,  that  to 
the  last  day  of  his  life  he  could  not  speak  of  Benjamin  Edwards,  but 
with  the  strong  emotions  of  a  grateful  affection,  which  seemed  to  be 
even  more  than  filial.  We  shall  see  many  evidences  of  this  generous 
recognition  in  the  letters  which  may  be  introduced  into  the  future 
pages  of  this  narrative. 

"  You  have  taught  me,"  he  says,  in  one  of  these  letters,  written  to 
his  old  friend  at  a  date  when  he  had  conquered  the  obstacles  of 
poverty,  and  had  hewn  his  way  to  a  profitable,  as  well  as  a  brilliant 
reputation  —  "  to  love  you  like  a  parent  Well,  indeed,  may  I  do  so, 
since  to  you,  to  the  influence  of  your  conversation,  your  precepts,  and 
your  example  in  the  most  critical  and  decisive  period  of  my  life,  I 
owe  whatever  of  useful  or  good  there  may  be  in  the  bias  of  my  mind 
and  character.  Continue  then,  I  implore  you,  to  think  of  me  as  a 
son,  and  teach  your  children  to  regard  me  as  a  brother :  they  shall 
find  me  one,  indeed,  if  the  wonder-working  dispensations  of  Provi 
dence  should  ever  place  them  in  want  of  a  brother's  arm,  or  mind, 
or  bosom." 

The  young  tutor's  final  destination  was  the  bar.  With  much  to 
justify  an  augury  of  success  in  this  profession,  he  had  also  some  draw 
backs.  He  was  shy  and  timid  in  any  public  exhibition  of  himself. 
His  enunciation  was  thick  and  indistinct,  marked  by  a  nervous  rapid 
ity  of  utterance.  Both  of  these  may  be  regarded  as  great  embar 
rassments  in  the  way  of  a  profession  which  requires  the  utmost  intre 
pidity  of  self-protrusion,  and  whose  outward  and  visible  manifestation 
exists  more  in  round,  clear,  and  dauntless  speech,  than  in  any  other 
attribute  by  which  it  can  be  made  known. 

Mr.  Edwards  soon  observed  these  defects  in  his  young  friend,  and, 
with  a  persuasive  and  gentle  skill,  set  himself  about  removing  them. 
He  narrated  to  him,  by  way  of  encouragement,  some  incidents  in  his 
own  experience,  —  particularly  those  which  belonged  to  his  debut  in 
the  Legislature,  in  which  he  gave  a  strong  picture  of  his  embarrass 
ment,  his  confusion  and  fear  of  breaking  down,  and  his  surprise  at 
his  safe  deliverance,  and  the  compliment  paid  him  by  Mr.  Chase, 


CHAP.  III.]  USEFUL  EMPLOYMENT.  53 

when  be  had  supposed  his  failure  complete.  He  sometimes  took 
occasion  also  to  rally  his  listener  upon  his  diffidence ;  and  to  give  him 
some  adequate  conception  of  the  little  room  he  had  to  fear  the  com 
petition  of  what  was  understood  to  be  the  most  formidable  class  of 
antagonists  he  might  be  compelled  to  encounter  in  life.  He  fortified 
this  lesson,  by  assuring  him,  that  there  were  not  many  of  those  who 
had  arisen  to  distinction,  who  had  not  to  contend  with  obstacles  as 
great  as  his  own.  Dorsey  and  Pinkney,  both  young  men  at  that 
period,  and  both  beginning  to  attract  the  observation  of  the  commu 
nity,  were  held  up  by  Mr.  Edwards  to  his  comment.  "  Dorsey/ ' 
said  he,  "  whom  you  so  much  admire,  and  Pinkney,  whom  you  will 
admire  still  more  when  you  shall  have  seen  him,  are  making  their 
own  way  to  distinction  under  as  great  disadvantages  as  any  you  have 
to  encounter."* 

With  whatever  distrust,  the  shy  student  at  that  time  received  these 
friendly  persuasives,  and  however  incredulous  he  might  be  of  the 
hopes  his  friend  was  endeavouring  to  implant  in  his  mind,  it  was  not 
many  years  before  he  had  realized  more  than  had  been  promised  him. 
A  letter  from  Mr.  Edwards  reached  him  at  Williamsburg  in  the  palmy 
day  of  his  career,  fondly  recalling  to  him  the  predictions  of  this  early 
time  in  Montgomery,  and  exulting,  with  the  pride  which  a  father  only 
might  be  supposed  to  feel  in  the  advancement  of  a  son,  at  the  fulfil 
ment  of  the  prophecy. 

f  Twenty  happy  and  useful  months  were  spent  under  the  roof  of  Mr. 
Edwards.  In  the  successive  occupations  of  classical  study,  of  instruc 
tive  conversation,  and  preparations  for  that  profession  to  which  he 
was  hereafter  to  devote  his  life,  Wirt  found,  at  this  epoch,  the  most 
solid  benefits.  In  the  contemplation  of  that  robust  and  manly  cha 
racter  which  was  daily  presented  to  his  notice  in  his  patron  and  friend; 
in  the  dignity  of  deportment,  lofty  virtue  and  massive  good  sense  of 
this  worthy  gentleman ;  in  the  unostentatious  simplicity  of  the  family, 
their  genuine  kindness  and  indulgent  consideration  of  himself,  he 
found  daily  a  stimulus  to  the  cultivation  of  the  virtues  both  of  his 
heart  and  head,  and  the  strongest  incentives  towards  the  fulfilment 
of  those  aspirations  for  renown  which,  in  after  life,  he  so  successfully 
accomplished. 

*  Cruse. 


54  JOURNEY  TO  GEORGIA.  [1787—1792. 

At  the  expiration  of  this  period,  his  health  became  somewhat  im 
paired.  By  the  advice  of  friends,  he  determined  to  make  a  journey 
on  horseback  to  Georgia,  and  spend  the  winter  with  his  friend  and 
brother-in-law,  Mr.  Carnes,  and  his  sister,  whom  he  had  not  seen 
since  her  marriage. 

"We  have  no  narrative  or  remembrances  of  this  journey  to  refer  to. 
It  was  undertaken  towards  the  end  of  the  year  1789.  The  traveller 
set  out  alone.  He  was  in  his  seventeenth  year.  The  way  was  long, 
and  a  great  deal  of  it  lay  through  a  dreary  wilderness  of  pine-forest 
and  sand.  It  was  no  light  enterprise  in  that  day ; — but  we  may  well 
imagine  that  to  the  cheerful  boy,  so  full  of  pleasant  fancies  and  rosy 
hopes,  the  wayside  brought  no  weariness.  In  the  first  outlook  of  a 
youth  of  seventeen  upon  the  world,  mounted  upon  his  steed ;  with  a 
purse  sufficiently  stored  to  bring  him  to  his  journey's  end ;  with  all 
his  worldly  goods  packed  on  a  pad  behind  his  saddle ;  with  a  gay 
heart  in  his  bosom,  and  a  sunshiny  face  beneath  his  beaver, — what  is 
there  on  the  globe  to  make  him  sad  ?  No  shadow  upon  his  path  ever 
takes  a  gloomy  hue,  no  lonesome  by-way  finds  him  unaccompanied 
with  pleasant  thoughts,  no  fatigue  overmasters  or  subdues  the  buoy 
ancy  of  his  mind;  the  rain  and  the  wind  bring  no  melancholy  when 
they  drive  against  his  breast.  The  swollen  river  which,  in  some 
mountain  gorge,  compels  him  to  a  halt,  is  but  a  picturesque  hindrance 
which  he  has  the  boldness  to  tempt,  or  the  patience  to  wait  for. 
Nightfall  but  heightens  the  romance  of  his  dreams,  as  he  holds  his 
way,  guided  by  some  distant  taper,  to  the  rude  shelter  of  a  woodman's 
hut.  The  hearth  to  which  he  has  found  this  doubtful  path,  gleams 
with  a  light  more  cheerful  than  the  illuminations  of  a  palace,  when 
its  rays  are  thrown  upon  the  homely  group  of  the  woodman's  family 
from  the  blazing  faggots,  kindled  to  prepare  for  him  a  supper  with 
which  no  banquet  in  his  elder  day  is  to  be  compared. 

If  our  young  adventurer  had  kept  a  journal  of  this  expedition,  we 
should,  doubtless,  have  had  abundant  material  from  which  to  illustrate 
the  content  and  joy  with  which  such  experiences  would  be  recorded. 

The  Southern  winter  seems  to  have  told  well  upon  his  constitution. 
He  had  been  threatened  with  a  pulmonary  complaint  which  had 
excited  some  alarm  in  his  friends,  and  it  was  supposed  he  might  find 


CHAP.  III.]  REMOVAL  TO  VIRGINIA.  55 

it  to  the  advantage  of  his  health,  as  well  as  to  the  professional  career 
to  which  he  directed  his  views,  to  make  a  permanent  settlement  in 
Georgia.  The  journey  on  horseback,  however,  and  the  genial  winter 
of  that  region,  wrought  a  rapid  change  in  his  condition,  and  enabled 
him  to  pursue  his  aims  in  a  quarter  more  attractive  to  his  regards, 
arid,  as  we  must  believe  from  the  result,  more  favourable  to  the  ob 
jects  of  his  ambition.  His  vigour  was  restored,  and  he  returned  to 
Maryland  in  the  spring. 

He  now  took  up  his  abode  at  Montgomery  Court  House,  and  en* 
tered  upon  the  study  of  the  law  with  William  P.  Hunt,  the  son  of 
his  former  preceptor.  In  this  position  he  remained  about  a  year,  and 
then,  for  the  first  time,  went  to  reside  in  Virginia. 

I  find  a  reference  to  this  removal,  and  the  causes  which  led  to  it, 
in  one  of  the  few  early  letters  which  have  fallen  under  my  notice. 
It  is  addressed  to  Mr.  Carnes,  in  Georgia,  in  November,  1792. 

"  While  with  Mr.  Hunt/'  he  writes,  "  a  friend  informed  me  of  a 
very  advantageous  station  for  a  lawyer  in  the  state  of  Virginia.  Every 
body  urged  me  to  seize  it.  The  law  of  Virginia  required  of  me  twelve 
months'  residence  in  the  state,  and  a  previous  examination  by  three 
of  the  Judges  of  the  General  Court.  I  removed  my  residence  imme 
diately  to  Virginia,  and  after  residing  about  five  months  under  a  Mr. 
Swann* — an  acquaintance  and  school-mate  of  Tom  Carnes,  and  a 
young  fellow  of  distinguished  legal  abilities, — I  applied  to  the  judges 
for  a  license ;  by  a  manoauvre,  removed  the  objection  of  non-residence, 
and,  after  a  minute  scrutiny  into  my  information,  obtained  the  signa 
ture  of  three  of  their  Honours  to  my  license.  I  have  disposed  of  my 


*  My  readers  will  recognize  in  this  reference,  Mr.  Thomas  Swann,  a  dis 
tinguished  member  of  the  bar  of  Washington,  and  for  several  years  District 
Attorney  of  the  United  States  in  that  city.  The  acquaintance  between  him 
and  Mr.  Wirt,  which  commenced  at  this  early  period,  ripened  into  a  cordial 
friendship,  which  was  maintained  throughout  life  unbroken,  and  was  mani 
fested  in  the  constant  habitual  exchange  of  kindness  which  the  proximity 
of  residence  enabled  them  to  practise  to  the  latest  day  of  Mr.  Wirt's  life. 
Some  few  letters,  the  fragments  only  of  a  frequent  correspondence  between 
them,  remain.  I  have  particularly  to  regret  my  failure  to  procure  that  por 
tion  of  it  which  belonged  to  the  earlier  period  of  Mr.  Wirt's  career,  in  which. 
I  had  hoped  to  find  some  instructive  details  of  his  life.  This  may  possibly 
yet  be  recovered. 


56  ADMITTED  TO  THE  BAR.  [1787—1792. 

property,  aixl  am  now  over  (this  letter  is  written  from  Prince  George's 
county,  Maryland,)  for  the  purpose  of  receiving  the  money.  Imme 
diately  upon  the  reception  of  this,  I  commence  the  practice  of  the 
law." 

This  is  the  introduction  of  William  Wirt  to  Virginia,  a  state  with 
whose  fame  he  grew  to  be  almost  inseparably  identified,  and  towards 
which  he  never  ceased  to  look  with  the  affection  of  a  child  for  a 
parent. 

What  was  the  nature  of  the  "manreuvre"  by  which  he  circumvented 
their  (( Honours,"  and  thus  got  himself  prematurely  ensconced  in  the 
bosom  of  that  bountiful  mother,  we  are  not  informed.  But  we  may, 
with  some  reason,  account  that  to  be  a  pious  fraud  which  so  success 
fully  gave  this  dutiful  and  reverential  son  to  a  family  which  has  never 
ceased,  from  that  moment,  to  regard  him  as  one  of  its  most  cherished 
favourites.  In  a  more  worldly  sense,  too,  it  may  be  reckoned  as  a 
token  of  the  future  prosperity  of  the  young  lawyer,  whose  first  case 
was  won  by  so  commendable  a  piece  of  sharp-sightedness.  Let  us, 
on  our  part,  look  to  this  incident  both  as  a  pledge  of  attachment  and 
fealty  to  the  new  sovereign  from  its  new  subject,  and  a  proof  of  his 
adaptation  to  that  profession  which  owes  so  much  of  its  thrift,  if  not 
its  glory,  to  the  dexterity  which  is  occasionally  called  to  display  itself 
in  finding  out  an  unguarded  point  in  the  outworks  of  the  law. 

The  Court  in  which  he  was  admitted  to  practise,  was  that  of  Cul- 
peper  county,  and  his  residence  was  accordingly  taken  in  the  court 
house  village. 


CHAPTER  IV. 
1792—1794. 

HIS  LIBRARY. FIRST  CASE. DIFFICULTIES  ATTENDING  IT. 18 

ASSISTED  BY  A  FRIEND. A   TRIUMPH. HIS    COMPANIONABLE 

QUALITIES. HABITS    OF    DESULTORY    STUDY. PRACTISES    IN 

ALBEMARLE. 

WE  have  the  young  practitioner  now  fairly  embarked  upon  the  sea 
of  his  profession. 

There  is  good  authority  for  saying  that  his  library  and  professional 
equipment  were  not  of  the  most  various  or  effective  description.  He 
has  told  the  story  himself,  that  his  whole  magazine  of  intellectual 
artillery,  at  this  period,  comprised  no  other  munitions  than  a  copy  of 
Blackstone,  two  volumes  of  Don  Quixote,  and  a  volume  of  Tristram 
Shandy.  Behind  these,  there  was,  probably,  a  twelve-month's  study, 
partly,  no  doubt,  travelled  along  the  flinty  highway  of  Coke  and  Lit 
tleton,  but,  we  may  be  pretty  confident  in  the  conjecture,  not  less 
diligently  conversant  with  the  secret  and  pleasant  byways  of  Tom 
Jones,  Roderick  Random,  and  their  kindred  adventurers. 

He  was  now  upon  a  theatre  to  which  he  had  anxiously  aspired, 
and  one  which  would  surely  try  his  metal.  He  came  to  this  proba 
tion  under  some  fearful  disadvantages ; — that  is  to  say,  with  no  great 
store  of  legal  provision,  and  with  his  constitutional  timidity  still 
unconquered. 

Only  those  who  have  gone  through  the  ordeal  of  public  contest, 
with  this  weight  upon  their  shoulders,  can  estimate  the  oppression — • 
the  horror,  I  might  say — of  such  a  drawback.  The  ordinary  pursuits 
of  business-life  give  one  no  insight  into  the  sufferings  of  the  public 
speaker  who  is  compelled  to  struggle  against  the  reluctance  of  a  diffi 
dent  nature.  The  young  hero  of  the  buskin,  when  first  brought  to 
the  footlights  to  confront  that  combined  Hydra  and  Briareus,  an 
assembled  audience,  can  tell  a  piteous  tale  of  terror,  if  asked  to 
describe  his  emotions.  The  novitiate  of  a  legislative  hall  may  give 

(57) 


58  FIRST  CASE.  [1792—1791. 

an  interesting  experience  to  the  same  point.  But,  more  severe  than 
either,  is  the  experiment  of  the  disconsolate  barrister  when  he  rises, 
for  the  first  time,  to  discourse  the  most  difficult  and  perplexing  of  all 
human  lore,  in  the  presence  of  the  frowning  and  solemn  majesty  of 
the  bench;  or  when  he  faces  that  personal  embodiment  of  populai 
justice,  the  twelve  "  probos  et  legales  homines,"  which  the  traverse! 
who  "  puts  himself  upon  his  country"  is  taught  to  believe,  by  a  vio 
lent  fiction,  to  be  the  country  itself,  but  in  which  the  maiden  orator 
sees  only  a  most  formidable  fragment  of  it.  The  young  votary  who, 
for  the  first  time,  stands  in  this  presence,  surrounded  by  its  usual  and 
characteristic  auditory,  drawn  thither  by  that  insatiable  love  of  the 
scenery  and  incident  of  the  judicial  drama,  which  is  prescriptively  the 
passion  of  the  multitude ;  when  he  sees  the  compact  pavement  of 
heads  extending  into  every  nook  within  the  horizon  of  his  vision, 
with  their  multitudinous  eyes  concentred  upon  one  focus,  and  that 
focus  himself;  all  eager  to  hear  every  word,  the  general  curiosity 
overcoming  all  uneasiness  of  attitude,  all  discomfort  of  the  heated 
atmosphere,  all  hunger  and  thirst — what  is  there  in  Fuseli's  imagi 
nation  of  nightmare  to  give  a  more  frightful  picture  of  the  oppressed 
brain  and  bewildered  sight  than  this  spectacle,  presented  to  a  shy  and 
unpractised  youth,  ineffectually  labouring,  in  advance,  to  repress  the 
throes  of  a  constitutional  diffidence  !* 

Such  are  the  trials  familiar  to  those  whose  professions  compel  them 
to  encounter  this  discipline. 

Wirt's  enunciation  was  still  defective  :  it  was  confused  and  hurried. 
His  voice,  when  undisturbed  by  that  timidity  which  deprived  him  of 
his  command  over  it,  was  rich  and  melodious.  His  person  was  at 
this  time  quite  as  prepossessing  as  it  was  remarked  to  be  in  his  later 
manhood.  His  manners  were  well  adapted  to  make  friends. 

*  One  such  scene  I  have  witnessed,  and  I  remember  the  agony  with 
which  the  confused  novitiate  arose  a  second  time,  having  been  but  a  moment 
before  compelled  to  take  his  seat,  in  the  hope  to  collect  his  routed  thoughts. 
His  second  essay  was  not  more  fortunate  than  the  first.  He  stood  silent  for 
a  brief  space,  and  at  the  end  was  able  to  say — "  Gentlemen,  I  declare  to 
Heaven,  that  if  I  had  an  enemy  ypon  whose  head  I  would  invoke  the  most 
cruel  torture,  I  could  wish  him  no  other  fate  than  to  stand  where  I  stand 
now."  Curiously  enough,  the  sympathy  which  this  appeal  brought  him, 
seemed  almost  instantly  to  give  him  strength.  A  short  pause  was  followed, 
by  another  effort,  which  was  completely  and  even  triumphantly  successful. 


CHAP.  IV.]  FIRST  CASE.  59 

His  first  appearance  at  the  bar  is  described  by  his  biographer  pretty 
much  from  his  own  account  of  the  incident  It  was  well  remembered 
amongst  Mr.  Wirt's  early  friends.  Luckily  for  him,  this  first  accost 
was  attended  by  some  excitements  which  overmastered  his  shyness 
and  reserve,  and  saved  him  many  pains.  The  occasion  and  its  events 
are  set  forth  with  so  much  interest  in  Cruse  Js  memoir,  that  I  take 
pleasure  in  offering  his  description  of  it  in  his  own  words. 

t(  With  these  advantages  and  defects,  such  as  they  were/'  says  the 
memoir,  "  he  was  to  begin  the  competitions  of  the  bar  in  a  part  of 
the  country  where  he  was  quite  unknown,  and  where  much  talent  had 
pre-occupied  the  ground,  with  experience  on  its  side  and  acquaintance 
with  the  people  and  their  affairs.  There  is  no  part  of  the  world 
where,  more  than  in  Virginia,  these  embarrassments  would  be  less 
ened  to  a  new  adventurer ;  as  there  is  no  where  a  more  courteous 
race  of  gentlemen  accessible  to  the  prepossessions  which  merit  ex 
cites.  There  was,  however,  another  embarrassment ;  our  lawyer  had 
no  cause.  But  he  encountered  here  a  young  friend  much  in  the 
same  circumstances,  but  who  had  a  single  case,  which  he  proposed  to 
share  with  Wirt,  as  the  means  of  making  a  joint  debut.  With  this 
small  stock  in  trade,  they  went  to  attend  the  first  County  Court. 

"  Their  case  was  one  of  joint  assault  and  battery,  with  joint  judg 
ment  against  three,  of  whom  two  had  been  released  subsequently  to 
the  judgment,  and  the  third,  who  had  been  taken  in  execution  and 
imprisoned,  claimed  the  benefit  of  that  release  as  enuring  to  himself. 
Under  these  circumstances,  the  matter  of  discharge  having  happened 
since  the  judgment,  the  old  remedy  was  by  the  writ  of  audita  que- 
rela.  But  Mr.  Wirt  and  his  associates  had  learned  from  their  Black- 
stone  that  the  indulgence  of  courts  in  modern  times,  in  granting  sum 
mary  relief,  in  such  cases,  had,  in  a  great  measure  superseded  the 
use  of  the  old  writ ;  and  accordingly  presented  their  case  in  the  form 
of  a  motion. 

"  The  motion  was  opened  by  Wirt's  friend  with  all  the  alarm  of  a 
first  essay.  The  bench  was  then,  in  Virginia  County  Courts,  com 
posed  of  the  ordinary  justices  of  the  peace ;  and  the  elder  members 
of  .the  bar,  by  a  usage,  the  more  necessary  from  the  constitution  of 
the  tribunal,  frequently  interposed  as  amid  curia,  or  informers  of 
the  conscience  of  the  court.  It  appears  that  on  the  case  being  opened, 


60  A  TRIUMPH.  [1792—1794. 

some  of  these  customary  advisers  denied  that  a  release  to  one,  after 
judgment,  released  the  other,  and  they  denied,  also,  the  propriety  of 
the  form  of  proceeding.  The  ire  of  our  beginner  was  kindled  by 
this  reception  of  his  friend,  and  by  this  voluntary  interference  with 
their  motion ;  and  when  he  came  to  reply  he  forgot  the  natural  alarms 
of  the  occasion,  and  maintained  his  point  with  recollection  and  firm 
ness.  This  awaked  the  generosity  of  an  elder  member  of  the  bar,  a 
person  of  consideration  in  the  neighbourhood  and  a  good  lawyer.  He 
stepped  in  as  an  auxiliary,  remarking  that  he  also  was  amicus  curice^ 
and,  perhaps,  as  much  entitled  to  act  as  such  as  others ;  in  which  ca 
pacity  he  would  state  his  conviction  of  the  propriety  of  the  motion, 
and  that  the  court  was  not  at  liberty  to  disregard  it ;  adding  that  its 
having  come  from  a  new  quarter  gave  it  but  a  stronger  claim  on  the 
candour  and  urbanity  of  a  Virginian  bar.  The  two  friends  carried 
their  point  in  triumph,  and  the  worthy  ally  told  his  brethren,  in  his 
plain  phrase,  that  they  had  best  make  fair  weather  with  one  who  pro 
mised  to  be  a  thorn  in  their  side.  The  advice  was,  we  dare  say, 
unnecessary.  The  bar  of  that  county  wanted  neither  talent  nor  cour 
tesy  ;  and  the  champion  having  vindicated  his  pretensions  to  enter 
the  list,  was  thenceforward  engaged  in  many  a  courteous  passage  at 
arms. 

"The  auxiliary  mentioned  in  the  above  anecdote,  was  the  late 
General  John  Miner,  of  Fredericksburg,  of  whom  Wirt,  in  subse 
quent  years,  often  spoke  with  strong  gratitude  and  esteem.  ( There 
was  never/  he  says,  <  a  more  finished  and  engaging  gentleman,  nor 
one  of  a  more  warm,  honest  and  affectionate  heart.  He  was  as  brave 
a  man  and  as  true  a  patriot  as  ever  lived.  He  was  a  most  excellent 
lawyer  too,  with  a  most  persuasive  flow  of  eloquence,  simple,  natural 
and  graceful,  and  most  affecting  wherever  there  was  room  for  pathos ; 
and  his  pathos  was  not  artificial  rhetoric;  it  was  of  that  true  sort 
which  flows  from  a  feeling  heart  and  noble  mind.  He  was  my  firm 
and  constant  friend  from  that  day  through  a  long  life ;  and  took  occa 
sion,  several  times  in  after  years,  to  remind  me  of  his  prophecy,  and 
to  insist  on  my  obligation  to  sustain  his  '  prophetic  reputation/  He 
left  a  large  and  most  respectable  family,  and  lives  embalmed  in  the 
hearts  of  all  who  knew  him/  ; 

In  this,  his  first  adventure,  he  was  more  successful  than  those  who 


CHAP.  IV.]  DESULTORY  STUDY.  61 

knew  him  best  had  expected.  He  was  indebted  for  this,  in  no  small 
degree,  to  the  lucky  accident  of  having  his  temper  aroused  for  the 
conflict.  We  may  suppose,  too,  that  the  aid  and  comfort  of  that 
powerful  ally  to  whom  the  story  refers,  was  felt,  not  less  in  the  kind 
ness  and  encouragement  of  a  friendly  countenance  bestowed  upon  the 
young  pleader  at  his  first  rising,  than  in  the  substantial  assistance 
given  before  the  trial  was  ended.  The  sympathy  of  a  good-natured 
face,  the  warm  gaze  of  a  friendly  eye,  and  the  silent  gesture  of  appro 
bation  and  assent,  are  potent  antidotes  to  the  alarms  which  players 
are  wont  to  call  "  the  stage  fright,"  and  what,  in  the  Hall  of  Themis, 
we  may  term,  in  analogy  to  this,  "the  fright  of  the  bar." 

The  ordeal,  however,  was  past.  The  ice  was  broken,  and  the  new 
barrister  felt  that  he  might  thenceforth  walk  into  the  courts  unques 
tioned. 

Those  who  knew  Wirt  in  that  day  were  accustomed  to  speak  of  him 
as  a  gay  and  happy  companion,  careless  somewhat  of  the  labour  of 
his  profession,  and  more  disposed  to  cultivate  the  congenial  pleasures 
of  good-fellowship,  than  to  pursue,  by  any  painful  toil,  the  road  to 
fame.  It  was  therefore  usual  to  say,  that,  at  this  period  of  his  life, 
he  gave  no  very  recognizable  pledge  of  that  eminence  which  he  after 
wards  attained.  It  may  be  true  that  his  studies  were  not  so  conver 
sant  with  the  deeps  of  legal  science,  as  one  might  demand  from  the 
ambitious  lawyer,  and  even  that  he  doffed  aside  the  sometimes  admon 
ishing  hopes  of  a  solid  professional  fame ;  but  it  can  scarcely  be  true 
that  an  active  and  apprehensive  mind,  such  as  his,  was  suffered  either 
to  rust  for  want  of  use,  or  to  devote  itself  to  frivolous  or  useless  sub 
jects.  "We  have  many  evidences  in  the  letters  and  other  papers  which 
have  reached  us,  that  the  most  absorbing  passion  of  his  nature  was 
a  longing  for  that  renown  which  was  chiefly  to  be  won  in  forensic 
triumphs.  We  may  confess  it  to  be  equally  true,  that  there  is  appa 
rent,  in  all  that  has  transpired,  regarding  this  portion  of  the  life  of 
Mr.  Wirt,  a  sad  want  of  system  in  his  study.  There  are  minds,  how 
ever,  of  the  very  highest  power,  which  seem  to  reject  system  with 
instinctive  aversion,  and  to  pursue  their  aims  with  what  might  be 
called  a  capricious  versatility  of  study  j  which,  being  susceptible  of- 
vivid  impressions  from  the  object  upon  which  they  are  employed,  are 
apt  to  be  enticed  from  the  course  of  methodical  occupation  by  the 
VOL.  I.  — 6 


62  PRACTISES  IN  ALBEMARLE.  11792—1794. 

attraction  of  new  pursuits,  or  driven  from  it  by  the  weariness  or  pain 
of  the  old. 

We  may  conclude  that,  to  some  extent,  this  remark  is  applicable 
to  the  character  of  Mr.  Wirt's  mind.  With  an  eye  quick  to  discern 
beauty,  whether  in  nature  or  art,  with  a  teeming  and  active  imagina 
tion,  with  a  heart  full  of  the  charities  of  life,  and  with  a  keen  zest 
for  the  delights  of  a  frank  companionship,  it  may  be  believed  that 
neither  his  professional  zeal,  nor  his  hopes  of  future  fame,  were,  at 
all  times  a  match  for  these  antagonists,  nor  potent  enough  to  guard 
him  against  their  seductions ;  that  both  his  studies  and  his  recreations 
were  likely  to  seek  their  pleasures  in  that  field  where  the  poetry  of  life 
held  an  acknowledged  sway  over  the  severer,  and  we  may  even  say, 
repulsive  studies  to  which  "  the  youth  whom  the  law  destines  to  a 
bright  manhood  "  is  compelled  to  devote  his  time. 

He  continued  to  practise  at  the  bar  of  Culpeper  court  some  one 
or  two  years,  with  increasing  success ;  in  the  meanwhile  extending 
his  acquaintance  and  business  connections  into  the  neighbouring 
counties.  In  this  circuit  he  included  Albemarle  county,  a  region  of 
Virginia  especially  distinguished  for  eminent  and  highly  cultivated 
men.  The  aspiring  barrister  here  found  many  friends,  whose  influ 
ence  in  the  control  of  his  future  life  was  of  the  most  fortunate 
aspect. 


CHAPTER  V. 
1794  —  1799. 

A.LBEMARLE    FRIENDS. DR.    GILMER. MR.  JEFFERSON,  MR.  MADI 
SON  AND  MR.  MONROE. JAMES    BARBOUR. MARRIES    MILDRED 

GILMER. PEN    PARK. DR.    GILMER' S   LIBRARY. HOSPITALITY 

OF   THE    COUNTRY. DANGERS    TO   WHICH    HE   WAS   EXPOSED. 

CHARACTER  OF  THE  BAR. HIS   POPULARITY  AND    FREE  HABITS. 

FRANCIS    WALKER    GILMER. THOMAS   W.    GILMER,    LATE    SE 
CRETARY    OF   THE    NAVY. DABNEY   CARR   AND    HIS   FAMILY. 

ANECDOTE    OF   BARBOUR,    CARR   AND    WIRT. STATE    OF    FLU. 

DEATH  OF  DR.  GILMER. ROSE  HILL. LETTER  TO  CARR. 

AMONGST  the  friends  whom  Wirt  found  at  this  period,  in  Albe- 
marle,  was  Doctor  George  Grilnier.  This  gentleman,  the  descendant 
of  a  Scotch  family  which  had  emigrated  at  an  early  date  to  Virginia, 
had  been  prepared  for  his  profession  in  Edinburg,  and  was  at  this 
time  an  eminent  physician,  in  the  enjoyment  of  a  large  practice. 
He  lived  at  Pen  Park,  his  family  seat,  in  the  neighbourhood  of 
Charlottesville.  He  had  been  noted  as  a  zealous  and  effective  friend 
of  the  Revolution  —  had  borne  arms  in  the  cause;  was  a  man  of 
genius,  of  accomplished  education,  wit  and  refinement.  Living  in 
the  immediate  neighbourhood  of  Mr.  Jefferson,  and  within  a  day's 
ride  of  Mr.  Monroe  and  Mr.  Madison,  it  was  his  singular  good  for 
tune  to  enjoy  the  intimate  acquaintance  and  friendship  of  these  dis 
tinguished  men. 

His  family  circle  furnished  attractions  both  to  old  and  young.  His 
children  drew  around  them  many  cheerful  and  happy  companions,  and 
his  own  accomplishments,  as  a  man  of  letters  and  observation,  brought 
him  the  best  society  of  the  time.  An  elegant  hospitality  prevailed 
in  his  household;  choice  books  were  found  in  his  library;  instructive 
and  agreeable  conversation  enlivened  his  fireside.  Pen  Park  exhi 
bited  just  such  a  combination  of  rare  and  pleasant  appurtenances  aa 
are  likely  to  make  the  best  impressions  upon  the  mind  of  an  ingemi- 


64  HIS   MARRIAGE.  [1791—1799. 

ous  and  ambitious  youth,  and  to  inspire  him  with  zeal  in  the  cultiva 
tion  of  virtue  and  knowledge. 

Of  the  children  who,  at  this  date,  graced  the  family  board,  there 
were  two  with  whom  these  memoirs  have  an  intimate  connection. 
The  first  was  Mildred,  the  eldest  of  the  family;  the  other  was 
Francis  Walker,  the  youngest  born  of  a  numerous  progeny.  The 
daughter  was  richly  gifted  with  the  gentle  attractions  of  her  sex,  in 
tellectual,  kind,  cheerful,  and  noted  for  her  good  sense  and  just  obser 
vation.  She  was  then  just  growing  into  womanhood,  with  all  the 
joys  of  that  happy  period  radiant  in  her  face.  The  imaginative  and 
susceptible  young  barrister  found  a  fairy  land  in  this  romantic  spot, 
and  a  spell  in  the  eye  and  tongue  of  the  maiden  which  charmed  too 
wisely  to  be  broken.  The  father's  regard  for  him  opened  the  way  to 
a  closer  alliance,  and  it  was  not  long  before  he  took  his  place  in  the 
family  as  a  cherished  son-in-law. 

The  marriage  was  solemnized  at  Pen  Park,  on  the  28th  of  May, 
1795.  From  this  period,  Wirt's  residence  was  established  with  the 
family  of  his  wife.  His  practice  and  reputation  increased.  Amongst 
several  lawyers,  then  and  afterwards  well  known  to  fame  in  that 
region,  he  is  said  to  have  stood  on  the  same  platform  with  the  best. 
Of  these  it  would  be  sufficient  to  mention  the  names  of  Barbour,  Ca- 
bell, — now  the  President  of  the  Court  of  Appeals  of  Virginia, — Carr, 
Davenport,  Austin,  Stuart  and  others,  who  will  be  recognised,  by 
those  who  are  familiar  with  the  bar  of  Virginia,  as  gentlemen  who 
enjoyed  a  well  deserved  repute  for  professional  worth,  and  some  of 
whom  afterwards  attained  to  an  enviable  celebrity  throughout  the 
Union. 

From  this  date  we  may  observe  the  steady  advancement  of  the  for 
tunes  of  the  subject  of  this  narrative — shaded  now  and  then,  by  a 
temporary  cloud,  —  but  nevertheless  forced  onward  by  the  innate 
strength  of  his  character  and  the  impetus  of  brilliant  talents  and 
useful  attainments.  Doctor  Gilmer  became  warmly  attached  to  him ; 
brought  him  into  intimate  acquaintance  with  the  illustrious  persons 
to  whom  I  have  referred ;  whetted  his  appetite  for  elegant  literature, 
by  the  habitual  display  of  his  own  stores  gathered  in  the  diligent 
study  of  it ;  gave  fresh  vigour  to  his  taste  and  fancy,  by  directing  his 
studies  to  the  best  books.  The  young  student  was  charmed  to  find 


CHAP.  V.]  PEN   PARK.  65 

such  happy  access  as  the  Doctor's  library  afforded,  to  those  fountains 
of  English  thought  and  speech  which  poured  their  streams  through 
the  pages  of  Hooker,  Boyle,  Locke,  Barrow,  South,  Bacon  and  Mil 
ton.  From  these  he  drank  deep  draughts,  and  filled  his  mind  with 
that  reverence  for  the  old  literature  of  our  native  tongue,  which  was 
ever  after  noted  as  one  of  the  most  determinate  characteristics  of  his 
mind.  His  acquaintance  with  Mr.  Jefferson,  Mr.  Madison  and  Mr. 
Monroe,  at  this  date,  before  either  of  them  had  been  elevated  to  that 
high  honour  which  each  subsequently  attained,  led,  in  due  time,  to 
confidential  esteem  and  friendship,  which  was  variously  manifested 
throughout  the  lives  of  the  parties.  Such  a  fact  as  this  may  be  in 
terpreted  to  furnish  the  strongest  evidence  of  the  personal  merit  of 
the  individual  to  whom  it  relates. 

Happy, — most  auspicious  was  it  for  him  that  he  was  thrown  thus 
early  under  the  guidance  of  so  kind  and  competent  a  friend  as  the 
worthy  proprietor  of  Pen  Park.  Fortune  confers  no  richer  boon  upon 
generous  and  aspiring  youth  than  when  she  gives  him  wise  and  affec 
tionate  friends.  To  win  an  honoured  place  in  the  household  and  in 
the  heart  of  a  liberal,  refined,  benevolent  and  observant  gentleman ; 
to  be  freshly  engrafted  upon  a  loving  and  pure-minded  family ;  to  feel 
the  gentle  and  considerate  kindness  of  parents  seconding  and  sustain 
ing  the  devotion  of  a  wife;  to  observe  all  around  him  the  blossoms  of 
a  new  affection,  diffusing  their  fragrance  into  the  atmosphere  which 
he  inhabits,  and  daily  ripening  into  fruit  for  his  enjoyment, — there 
are  few  natures  so  stolid  as  not  to  draw  from  these  environments  good 
store  of  nutriment  to  improve  the  heart,  exalt  its  charities,  and  quicken 
its  impulses  towards  the  cultivation  of  virtue,  honour  and  religion.  Ii 
is  true  that  such  blandishments  are  not  exempt  from  the  necessity  of 
that  vigilant  self-control,  which  every  condition  of  fortune  seems  to 
exact  from  a  well-ordered  mind.  The  vicious  enticements  of  life 
openly  challenge  us  to  be  upon  our  guard,  and  there  is  no  great  share 
of  merit  to  be  awarded  to  the  youth  who,  plainly  perceiving  the  danger, 
arms  himself  in  good  time  against  it.  But  when  prosperity  enlivens 
all  around  us,  and  affection  is  continually  striving  to  make  us  happy 
by  the  offerings  of  kindness,  the  heart  is  sometimes  taken  unawares 
by  its  own  jocund  and  overflowing  content,  and  may  fall  into  the 
snares  of  that  pleasure  which  the  generosity  of  friendship  itself  admi- 


66  HOSPITALITY  OF  THE  COUNTRY.        [1794—1799. 

nisters.  I  do  not  wish  to  conceal  the  fact  that  at  this  time  of  the  life 
of  Mr.  Wirt,  he  was  not  altogether  free  from  the  censure  of  having 
sometimes  yielded  to  the  spells  of  the  tempter,  and  fallen  into  some 
occasional  irregularities  of  conduct.  I  am  aware  that  this  charge  has 
been  made  in  graver  form,  with  some  amplitude  of  detail  and  circum 
stance.  It  is  partly  to  correct  what  is  false  in  this,  but  much  more 
from  a  consideration  of  what  is  due  to  truth  and  to  the  impartial  pre 
sentation  of  the  subject  of  my  biography,  that  I  now  allude  to  it.  I 
cannot  be  insensible,  either,  to  the  duty  of  exhibiting  to  the  youth  of 
the  country  a  faithful  picture  of  an  eminent  man,  in  whose  career  they 
may  study  the  best  lesson  for  their  own  guidance  to  a  life  of  public 
usefulness  and  to  the  reward  of  an  honourable  fame.  I  should  not  be 
true  to  this  aim  if  I  kept  out  of  view  the  occasions  which  should  enable 
mo  to  show  how  strictly  the  most  virtuous  natures  should  observe  the 
tendency  of  every  quick  impulse,  doubt  its  safety,  and  check  its  first 
extravagance. 

"VVirt  was  now  twenty-five  years  of  age.  He  was  companionable, 
warm-hearted  and  trustful.  His  mind  was  quick,  and  imbued  with  a 
strong  relish  for  wit  and  humour.  An  old  friend,  who  knew  him  well 
in  that  day,  says  of  him  :  "  He  had  never  met  with  any  man  so  highly 
engaging  and  prepossessing.  His  figure  was  strikingly  elegant  and 
commanding,  with  a  face  of  the  first  order  of  masculine  beauty,  ani 
mated,  and  expressing  high  intellect.  His  manners  took  the  tone  of 
his  heart ;  they  were  frank,  open  and  cordial ;  and  his  conversation, 
to  which  his  reading  and  early  pursuits  had  given  a  classic  tinge,  was 
very  polished,  gay  and  witty.  Altogether,"  he  adds,  "he  was  a  most 
fascinating  companion,  and  to  those  of  his  own  age,  irresistibly  and 
universally  winning/'* 

Such  a  character  we  may  suppose  to  be  but  too  susceptible  to  the 
influences  of  good-fellowship,  which,  in  the  jollity  of  youthful  associa 
tion,  not  unfrequently  take  the  discretion  of  the  votary  by  surprise, 
and  disarm  its  sentinels.  The  fashion  of  that  time  increased  this 
peril.  An  unbounded  hospitality  amongst  the  gentlemen  of  the  coun 
try,  opened  every  door  to  the  indulgence  of  convivial  habits.  The 
means  of  enjoyment  were  not  more  constantly  present  than  the  solici- 

*  Cruse's  Memoir. 


CHAP.  V.]  CHARACTER  OF  THE  BAR.  67 

tations  to  use  them.  Every  dinner-party  was  a  revel  j  every  ordinary 
visit  was  a  temptation.  The  gentlemen  of  the  bar,  especially,  indulged 
in  a  license  of  free  living,  which  habitually  approached  the  confines  of 
excess,  and  often  overstepped  them.  The  riding  of  the  circuit,  which 
always  brought  several  into  company,  and  the  adventures  of  the  way 
side,  gave  to  the  bar  a  sportive  and  light-hearted  tone  of  association, 
which  greatly  fostered  the  opportunity  and  the  inclination  for  convivial 
pleasures.  A  day  spent  upon  the  road  on  horseback,  the  customary 
visits  made  to  friends  by  the  way,  the  jest  and  the  song,  the  unchecked 
vivacity  inspired  by  this  grouping  together  of  kindred  spirits, — all  had 
their  share  in  imparting  to  the  brotherhood  that  facility  of  temper  and 
recklessness  of  the  more  severe  and  sober  comment  of  the  world,  which, 
it  will  be  acknowledged,  is  dangerous  to  youth  in  proportion  to  the 
enjoyment  it  affords.  Then,  the  contests  of  the  bar  which  followed 
in  the  forum,  the  occasions  they  afforded  for  the  display  of  wit  and 
eloquence,  and  the  congratulation  of  friends,  were  so  many  additional 
provocatives  to  that  indulgence  which  found  free  scope  when  evening 
brought  all  together,  under  one  roof,  to  rehearse  their  pleasant  adven 
tures,  and  to  set  flowing  the  currents  of  mirth  and  good-humour, — to 
a  make  a  night  of  it,"  as  the  phrase  is,  kept  merry  by  the  stimulants 
of  good  cheer.  The  bar  yet  retains  some  of  these  characteristics ;  but 
the  present  generation  may  but  feebly  conceive  the  pervading  and 
careless  joyousness  with  which,  in  that  early  time,  the  members  of 
their  mirthful  craft  pursued  their  business  through  a  country-side.  I 
mean  no  disparagement  to  the  learned  and  gay  profession,  but,  on  the 
contrary,  some  commendation  of  the  kindly  spirit  of  its  brotherhood, 
when  I  say,  that  in  these  incidents  of  its  character  and  association 
there  was  manifested  something  of  the  light-heartedness  and  improvi 
dence  of  the  old-fashioned  strolling  theatrical  companies.  The  present 
generation  will  bear  witness  to  many  an  ancient  green-room  joke  of 
the  circuit,  which  yet  floats  abroad  in  Virginia,  with  a  currency 
scarcely  less  notable  than  when  it  was  first  cast  off. 

William  Wirt  was  well  known  in  these  associations  of  Albemarle 
and  the  surrounding  counties,  an  admired  object  in  the  court-house 
during  the  day,  a  leading  spirit  in  the  evening  coterie ;  eloquent  on 
the  field  of  justice,  sustaining  his  client's  cause  with  a  shrewd  and 
sometimes  brilliant  skill ;  not  less  eloquent  at  the  table  or  the  mess 


68  FRANCIS  WALKER  GILMER.  [1794—1799 

room,  where  his  faculties  were  allowed  to  expatiate  through  another 
range,  and  where  he  gave  reins  to  the  wit  and  mirth  which  shook  the 
roof-tree.  We  may  not  wonder  that,  in  the  symposia  of  these  days, 
the  graver  maxims  of  caution  were  forgotten,  and  that  the  enemy  of 
human  happiness,  always  lying  at  lurch  to  make  prey  of  the  young, 
should  sometimes  steal  upon  his  guard  and  make  his  virtue  prisoner. 

The  too  frequent  recurrence  of  these  misadventures  in  that  day, 
have  furnished  food  for  much  gross  calumny  in  regard  to  him,  and 
have  led  to  the  fabrication  of  coarse  and  disgusting  charges  of  vulgar 
excess,  which  I  am  persuaded  are  utterly  groundless.  The  friends  of 
Mr.  Wirt  have  seen  with  regret,  that  the  most  offensive  of  these  in 
ventions  have  sometimes  been  used,  with  many  fanciful  and  absurd 
additions  of  circumstance,  by  indiscreet  zealots  in  the  cause  of  temper 
ance,  who  have  seemed  to  think  it  quite  excusable  to  repeat  and  aggra 
vate  the  most  improbable  of  these  falsehoods,  for  the  sake  of  the  profit 
which  they  suppose  may  accrue  to  the  world  from  the  use  of  a  distin 
guished  name  to  point  the  moral  of  their  story.  Whilst  not  seeking 
to  extenuate  the  irregularities  to  which  I  have  alluded,  beyond  what 
they  may  fairly  claim  from  the  circumstances  in  which  they  were  in 
dulged,  and,  indeed,  recurring  to  them  only  with  a  profound  regret,  I 
could  not  allow  the  occasion  now  before  me  to  pass  by  without  this 
open  and  distinct  denunciation  of  the  libels  I  have  seen,  and  of  the 
terms  of  wanton  and  malicious  exaggeration  in  which  they  have  been 
repeated. 

Francis  Walker  Gilmer,  the  youngest  son  of  the  Doctor,  will  be 
often  referred  to  in  the  course  of  this  narrative.  At  the  time  of  Wirt's 
marriage  he  was  but  a  child.  As  he  grew  towards  manhood,  he  de 
veloped  a  high  order  of  talent,  which  led  him  to  the  study  of  the  law 
and  to  the  eager  pursuit  of  letters.  He  was  eminently  qualified  to 
excel  in  both.  An  early  death,  however,  deprived  the  bar  of  the  pro 
mised  distinction  which  seemed  to  await  the  student ;  and  the  litera 
ture  of  the  nation  has  been  enriched  only  to  the  amount  of  a  few 
unstudied  essays,  which  acquired  a  temporary  distinction  from  the 
presage  they  afforded  of  what  the  author  was  capable  of  accomplishing. 
Some  of  my  readers  will  probably  remember  a  few  rapid,  striking  and 
scholar-like  delineations  of  eminent  public  men,  which,  some  twenty 
years  ago,  attracted  a  large  share  of  attention  at  the  seat  of  government, 


CHAP.  V.]  DABNEY  CARR  AND  HIS  FAMILY.  69 

under  the  title  of  "  Sketches  of  American  Orators."  These  sketches, 
collected  into  a  small  volume,  I  believe  constitute  nearly  all  that  Fran 
cis  Walker  Gilmer  has  left  in  the  way  of  a  contribution  to  the  literary 
store  of  the  country. 

Mr.  Jefferson's  friendship  for  Dr.  Gilmer  was  extended  to  the  son, 
and  Francis  was  educated  almosty  entirely  under  the  direction  of  the 
proprietor  of  Monticello,  whose  estimate  of  his  talents  and  learning 
was  frequently  manifested,  both  in  written  correspondence  and  per 
sonal  intercourse,  by  the  most  flattering  expressions  of  confidence. 
He  enjoyed,  in  scarcely  inferior  degree,  the  esteem  of  Mr.  Jefferson's 
friend,  the  Abbe  Correa,  some  time  Minister  from  Portugal  to  this 
country,  a  man  of  distinguished  erudition,  and  always  a  most  welcome 
and  admired  visiter  at  Monticello. 

I  may  mention,  in  this  place,  that  the  family  of  Pen  Park  has 
been  recently  more  conspicuously  brought  to  the  view  of  the  public 
by  the  interest  attached  to  the  career  of  Thomas  Walker  Gilmer,  a 
grandson  of  the  Doctor,  not  long  since  governor  of  Virginia,  and  later 
still,  Secretary  of  the  Navy,  which  post  he  held  for  a  few  months 
under  the  disastrous  administration  of  the  first  Vice-President  who 
has  ever  been  called  to  the  Presidential  chair  of  the  Union.  The 
bursting  of  the  great  gun,  "the  Peace-Maker/ '  on  board  of  the 
Princeton,  in  February,  1844,  will  long  be  remembered  in  Virginia 
for  the  sudden  and  melancholy  end  it  brought  to  the  Secretary,  then 
in  the  prime  of  vigorous  manhood,  and  in  the  anticipation  of  a  life 
of  increasing  honours. 

Wirt,  as  I  have  hinted,  was  not  the  most  sedate  of  all  who  rode 
the  circuits.  In  those  old-fashioned  progresses  from  court  to  court, 
when  the  gentlemen  of  the  bar,  booted  and  spurred,  rode  forth  more 
like  huntsmen  than  learned  clerks, — or  like  the  Canterbury  pilgrims, 
partially  united  the  character  of  both,  —  sedateness  was  no  very 
popular  virtue  in  the  troop.  Amongst  those  who  constituted'Wirt's 
associates  on  these  occasions,  Dabney  Carr  was  the  most  intimate. 
James  Barbour,  also,  was  a  companion  and  friend  of  both.  These 
friendships,  so  early  began,  lost  nothing  of  their  kindness  or  sincerity, 
throughout  the  vicissitudes  and  separations  of  after-life. 

Dabney  Carr,  the  father  of  the  gentleman  I  have  just  named,  was 
a  man  of  high  consideration  in  the  state.  He  was  a  member  of  the 


TO  DABNEY  CARR.  [1794—1799, 

Legislature,  in  1773,  from  Louisa,  and  most  favourably  known  for 
his  ability  and  zeal  on  the  side  of  the  colonies  in  their  resistance  to 
the  encroachments  of  the  parent  government.  He  was  the  intimate 
friend  of  Henry,  Nicholas,  Lee,  Pendleton,  Jefferson, — indeed  of  all 
who  had  become  distinguished  in  Virginia  in  promoting  the  first 
movements  of  the  revolution. 

With  Mr.  Jefferson  he  had  a  nearer  connection,  having  married 
his  sister.  He  died  in  May,  1773,  almost  immediately  after  the 
adjournment  of  that  Legislature  in  which  he  had  distinguished  him 
self  by  the  spirit  and  eloquence  with  which  he  urged  the  proposition, 
then  first  introduced  by  himself,  for  a  more  effective  and  concentrated 
action  of  the  colonies  through  the  means  of  committees — a  proposition 
which,  being  adopted,  seems  to  have  stimulated  the  formation  of  the 
first  Continental  Congress.*  He  left  behind  him  six  children,  of 
whom  the  three  youngest  were  sons,  Peter,  Samuel  and  Dabney. 

Dabney,  the  youngest  of  these,  was  born  but  a  month  before  the 
death  of  his  father,  and  was,  therefore,  not  more  than  half  a  year  the 
junior  of  his  friend  and  comrade,  Wirt.  These  two  young  men,  so 
near  the  same  age,  living  in  the  same  part  of  the  country,  practising 
at  the  same  bar,  possessing  great  similarity  of  temper  and  character, 
both  animated  by  the  same  ambition,  contracted  an  affectionate  inti 
macy  which  never  afterwards  lost  its  warmth,  and  which,  as  the 
reader  will  hereafter  perceive,  was  most  pleasantly  illustrated  in  the 
correspondence  between  them  to  the  latest  period  of  their  lives. 

Peter  Carr,  the  eldest  of  the  three  brothers,  attracted  the  particular 
notice  and  regard  of  his  uncle,  Mr.  Jefferson,  in  whose  published 
correspondence  will  be  found  many  evidences  of  the  concern  he  took 
in  the  education  of  his  nephew.  This  gentleman  had  directed  his 
attention  to  the  bar,  which  at  that  date,  much  more  even  than  at  pre 
sent,  was  regarded  as  the  best  avenue  to  distinction.  He,  however, 
did  not  practise,  but,  preferring  rural  life  and  the  pleasures  of  philo 
sophical  and  literary  study,  betook  himself  to  a  farm  in  Albemarle, 
where  he  lived  greatly  beloved  by  his  friends  for  his  bland,  affec 
tionate  and  upright  character,  and  admired  by  all  who  knew  him  as 
a  polished  and  elegant  scholar. 

*  See  Mr.  Jefferson's  letter  to  Dabney  Carr,  April,  1816.  Writings  of 
Jefferson,  vol.  4,  p.  271. 


CHAP.  V.]  ANECDOTE,  A  PROPHECY.  71 

Colonel  Samuel  Carr,  the  second  of  these  sons,  is  still  living,  an 
opulent  country  gentleman,  well  known  both  in  the  political  and 
social  circles  of  Virginia,  as  one  of  her  most  valued  citizens.  He 
resided,  during  a  great  portion  of  his  life,  upon  a  landed  estate  in 
Albemarle,  called  Dunlora,  and  represented  his  district  in  the  State 
Senate,  where  he  acquired  an  extensive  and  well-deserved  influence. 

It  was  in  the  circle  of  which  these  gentlemen  were  amongst  the 
most  prominent  members,  that  Wirt  found  the  cherished  companions 
of  his  early  forensic  life. 

An  incident,  connected  with  this  period,  is  worth  relating. 

James  Barbour,  Dabney  Carr,  and  Wirt,  were  on  their  customary 
journey  to  Fluvanna,  the  adjoining  county  to  Albemarle,  to  attend 
the  court  there,  "the  State  of  Flu,"  as  that  county  was  called  in 
their  jocular  terms.  They  had  been  amusing  each  other  with  the 
usual  prankishness  which  characterised  their  intercourse.  "Wirt  was 
noted  for  making  clever  speeches,  as  they  rode  together.  In  these, 
he  was  wont  to  imagine  some  condition  of  circumstances  adapted  to 
his  displays.  Sometimes  he  rode  ahead  of  his  companions,  and, 
waiting  for  them  by  the  road-side,  welcomed  them,  in  an  oration  of 
mock  gravity,  to  the  confines  of  "the  State  of  Flu,"  representing 
himself  to  be  one  of  its  dignitaries,  sent  there  to  receive  the  distin 
guished  persons  into  whom  he  had  transformed  the  young  attorneys 
of  the  circuit.  These  exhibitions,  and  others  of  the  same  kind,  are 
said  to  have  been  of  the  most  comic  spirit,  and  to  have  afforded  many 
a  laugh  to  the  actors.  At  the  time  of  the  incident  I  am  about  to 
relate,  the  three  whom  I  have  mentioned,  arrived  at  Carr's  Brook,  in 
Albemarle,  the  residence  of  Peter  Carr,  where  they  dined  and  passed 
the  night.  During  this  visit,  whilst  indulging  their  customary  mer 
riment,  Barbour  entertained  them  with  a  discourse  upon  the  merits 
of  himself  and  his  companions,  in  the  course  of  which  he  undertook 
to  point  out  their  respective  destinations  in  after  life.  "  You,  Dab 
ney,"  said  he,  "have  indulged  a  vision  of  judicial  eminence.  You 
shall  be  gratified,  and  shall  hold  a  seat  on  the  Bench  of  the  Court  of 
Appeals  of  Virginia.  Your  fortune,  William,"  he  continued,  ad 
dressing  himself  to  Wirt,  "  shall  conduct  you  to  the  Attorney  Gene 
ralship  of  the  United  States,  where  you  shall  have  harder  work  to  do 
than  making  bombastic  speeches  in  the  woods  of  Albemarle.  As  for 


72  LETTER  TO   CARR.  [1794—1799. 

myself,  I  shall  be  content  to  take  my  seat  in  the  Senate  of  the  United 
States." 

This  little  passage  in  the  lives  of  the  three  gay  companions,  has 
only  become  notable  from  the  singular  fulfilment  of  the  jocular  pro 
phecy  in  respect  to  each  of  the  parties. 

Within  a  year  or  two  after  the  marriage  of  his  daughter,  Doctor 
Gilmer  died.  In  the  division  of  his  estate,  which  became  necessary 
upon  this  event,  a  portion  of  it,  known  as  Hose  Hill,  was  allotted  to 
the  young  wife  and  her  husband,  and  here  Wirt  built  a  house,  which 
thenceforth,  nominally,  became  his  residence.  Rose  Hill  was  in  the 
vicinity  of  Pen  Park,  and  as  its  new  proprietors  had  no  children,  they 
spent  so  much  of  their  time  in  the  family  mansion,  as  scarcely  to 
allow  us  to  say  they  had  changed  their  dwelling-place.  Amongst 
the  several  letters  of  Wirt,  which  have  been  preserved,  belonging  to 
this  period,  I  find  them  all  dated  at  Pen  Park,  affording  evidence  of 
the  fact  that  the  writer  had  not  ceased  to  regard  himself  as  an  inha 
bitant  of  the  domicil.  I  am  tempted  here  to  give  one  of  these  letters 
written,  in  the  spring  of  1799,  to  his  friend  Carr,  which,  dealing  with 
a  matter  of  no  more  importance  than  an  invitation  to  dinner,  may, 
nevertheless,  interest  the  reader  by  the  picture  it  affords  of  the  light- 
heartedness  of  its  author. 

"  I  cannot  go  over  to  see  you  to-day,  my  good  friend.  And  I  have 
almost  as  many,  and  as  solid  reasons  for  my  conduct,  as  Doctor  Ross 
had  for  not  wearing  stockings  with  boots.  The  first  of  his  was,  that 
he  had  no  stockings,  and  his  catechiser  was  satisfied.  Let  us  see 
whether  you  will  be  as  candid. 

"Firstly. — We  have  a  troop  of  visiting  cousins  here,  who  have 
come  from  afar,  and  whom  we  cannot,  you  know,  decently  invite  to 
leave  our  house. 

"  Secondly. — We  have,  perhaps,  finer  lamb  and  lettuce  to-day,  for 
dinner,  than  ever  graced  the  table  of  Epicurus,  not  meaning  to  imply 
any  thing  to  the  dishonour  of  Donloxa,  or  JDwnlora, — or  something,  I 
forget  what. 

"  Thirdly. — Mr.  Ormsby  is  here,  who  brings  an  historical,  topo 
graphical,  critical,  chronological  and  fantastical  account  of  Kentucky 
and  its  inhabitants. 

"  Fourthly,—- To  conclude,  we  have  determined  that,  immediately 


CHAP.  VI.]  HAPPY  LIFE  AT  PEN   PARK.  73 

upon  the  receipt  of  this,  you  are  to  start  for  this  place ;  for,  you  ob 
serve,  that  the  same  reasons  which  justify  my  staying  at  home,  prove 
the  propriety,  and,  I  hope  you  will  think,  necessity  of  your  coming 
hither."* 


CHAPTER   VI. 

1799  —  1802. 

HAPPY  LIFE  AT  PEN  PARK. — MISFORTUNE. — DEATH  OF  HIS  WIFE. 
RELIGIOUS  IMPRESSIONS. DETERMINES  TO  REMOVE  TO  RICH 
MOND.  ELECTED  CLERK  TO  THE  HOUSE  OF  DELEGATES. NEW 

ACQUAINTANCES. PATRICK  HENRY. RESOLUTIONS  OF  NINETY- 
EIGHT.  RE-ELECTED    CLERK  AT  TWO  SUCCEEDING  SESSIONS. 

TEMPTATIONS   TO  FREE   LIVING. TRIAL  OF  CALLENDER   FOR  A 

LIBEL  UNDER  THE  SEDITION  LAW. WIRT,  HAY,  AND  NICHOLAS 

DEFEND  HIM. COURSE  OF  THE  TRIAL. A  SINGULAR  INCIDENT. 

JUDGE  CHASE. NULLIFICATION. FOURTH  OF  JULY  ORATION. 

EMBARRASSED   ELOCUTION. 

THE  term  of  his  residence  in  Albemarle  may  be  reckoned  as  mark 
ing  the  golden  days  of  William  Wirt's  youth.  He  came  to  this  region 
poor,  and  we  may  say,  without  friends, — at  least,  without  such  friends 

*I  have  to  acknowledge  my  indebtedness,  for  much  of  what  I  have  been 
able  to  collect  relating  to  the  family  of  Dr.  Gilmer,  and  Mr.  Wirt's  connec 
tion  with  it,  to  the  kind  assistance  of  the  Hon.  Wm.  C.  Rives,  of  Castle 
Hill,  in  Albemarle,  and  of  his  friend  and  neighbour,  Mr.  Franklin  Minor,  a 
grandson  of  Doctor  Gilmer.  I  may  take  this  occasion  also  to  express  my 
obligations  to  Mr.  David  Holmes  Conrad,  of  Berkeley,  for  some  interesting 
particulars  relating  to  Judge  Carr,  and  to  Messrs.  John  R.  Thompson,  of 
Richmond,  the  accomplished  editor  of  the  Southern  Messenger,  and  John 
M.  Muschett,  of  Charles  county,  Maryland,  for  very  acceptable  contributions 
respecting  the  early  life  and  professional  history  of  Mr.  Wirt.  To  numerous 
other  friends  I  owe  the  same  acknowledgment  for  many  favours  received 
in  the  course  of  my  occupation  upon  these  memoirs,  and  must  content  my 
self  with  this  general  proffer  of  my  thanks,  for  services  which  have  not 
been  less  useful  to  me  than  they  have  been  indicative  of  the  highest  appre 
ciation  of  the  worth  of  the  subject  of  my  labours. 

VOL.  I.  — 7  <    ' 


74  MISFORTUNE.  [1799     1802. 

as  open  to  us  the  road  to  fortune.  He  was  inexperienced  in  the  busi 
ness  of  life,  provided  with  no  great  store  of  useful  knowledge,  not 
yet  sufficiently  acquainted  with  the  strength  or  value  of  his  faculties 
to  give  him  assurance  of  his  fitness  for  the  contests  through  which 
alone  the  career  he  had  chosen  might  become  prosperous.  We  may 
imagine  him,  also,  neither  over-confident  in  his  discretion  nor  sanguine 
in  his  dependence  upon  the  guidance  of  his  judgment.  Yet  here  it 
was  his  happiness  to  witness  the  quick  growth  of  esteem  and  consi 
deration  }  to  become  conscious,  day  by  day,  of  the  unfolding  of  those 
talents  which  were  adequate  to  the  winning  of  a  good  renown.  Here 
he  found  himself  growing,  with  rapid  advance,  in  the  affections  of  a 
circle  of  friends,  whose  attachment  was  then  felt  as  a  cheerful  light 
upon  his  path,  and  which  promised  a  not  less  benign  radiance  over 
his  future  days.  But  above  all  other  gratifications,  here  it  was  that 
he  became  an  inmate  of  that  delightful  home  which  love  had  furnish 
ed,  and  which  wise  counsel  and  instruction  made  as  precious  to  the 
mind,  as  its  other  allurements  had  made  it  to  the  heart. 

We  err,  if  we  believe  that  a  life  of  unmixed  content  is  the  most 
auspicious  to  the  fortunes  of  a  young  aspirant  for  fame.  It  need  not 
be  told  to  those  who  have  been  most  active  in  the  emulous  trials  by 
which  consideration  is  won  in  the  world,  that  the  highest  order  of 
talent  stands  in  need  of  the  spur  of  occasional  disappointment  to 
stimulate  its  vigour,  nor  that  a  career  of  uninterrupted  enjoyment  is 
apt  to  dull  the  lustre  of  the  brightest  parts,  and  extinguish  the  am 
bition  of  the  most  generous  and  capable  natures.  Adversity  is  not 
unfrequently  the  most  healthful  ingredient  in  the  cup  of  human 
experience,  and  the  best  tonic  to  brace  the  mind  for  those  encounters 
in  which  virtue  is  proved  and  renown  achieved. 

Wirt  was  brought  to  the  test  of  this  truth  more  than  once  during 
that  period  of  happy  sojourn  amongst  the  delights  of  Pen  Park. 
We  have  already  noticed  the  death  of  Doctor  Gilmer,  his  instructor, 
guide  and  friend.  In  the  fifth  year  of  his  marriage  a  more  severe 
calamity  fell  upon  him,  in  the  loss  of  his  wife.  This  event  came 
with  an  overwhelming  anguish,  to  teach  him,  if  not  the  first,  certainly 
the  most  painful  lesson  of  his  life,  upon  the  uncertainty  of  human 
happiness  and  the  duty  of  establishing  our  hopes  upon  surer  foun 
dations  than  the  treasures  of  earth. 


CHAP.  VI.l  REMOVES  TO  RICHMOND.  75 

There  is  observable  in  the  early  letters  of  Mr.  Wirt,  some  occa 
sional  indications  of  that  sentiment  of  reverence  for  religious  subjects, 
which,  towards  the  close  of  his  life,  had  expanded  into  the  prominent 
characteristic  of  his  mind.  No  occasion  of  hilarity,  no  companion 
ship  of-  wild  and  careless  spirits,  no  youthful  indiscretion  seems  ever 
to  have  betrayed  him  into  the  profanation  of  subjects  esteemed  sacred, 
or  to  the  practice  of  the  scoffs  and  jests  which  are  too  currently  in 
dulged  in  the  festivities  of  thoughtless  youth,  or  of  unthinking  age. 

The  death  of  his  wife  naturally  strengthened  this  sentiment,  and 
furnished  occasion  for  the  improvement  of  his  heart,  in  the  entertain 
ment  of  more  earnest  pursuit  and  study  of  religious  topics.  I  do  not 
mean  to  affirm  that  this  event  led  him  to  any  external  profession  of 
religious  duty ;  or  that  it,  in  any  very  perceptible  degree,  altered  his 
demeanour  in  the  presence  of  the  world ;  but  it  had  its  influence  in 
impressing  more  deeply  upon  his  character  that  profound  sense  of  the 
sacredness  of  spiritual  truth,  and  the  solace  of  Christian  faith,  which 
every  healthful,  reflective  mind  finds  in  the  meditations  which  are 
prompted  by  the  death  of  those  we  love. 

The  time  had  now  come  when  he  was  once  more  to  be  thrown  upon 
the  world.  His  marriage  had  been  without  children.  There  was 
no  tie  but  that  of  friendship  and  the  remembrance  of  an  overthrown 
affection,  to  hold  him  to  this  spot.  He  was  young.  The  world  was 
still  before  him ;  not  less  promising  in  its  offer  of  the  prize  of  am 
bition  than  it  had  been.  Friends  beckoned  him  to  the  labours  of  a 
fresh  contest.  An  aching  memory  drove  him  from  the  scenes  that 
surrounded  him.  The  mind  torn  by  grief  yields  readily  to  the  solici 
tations  of  adventure,  and  finds  a  double  stimulus  to  action,  in  the 
desire  to  escape  from  present  suffering,  and  the  hope  to  surround  it 
self  with  new  objects  of  affection. 

He  determined  to  establish  his  residence  in  Richmond.  Before  he 
abandoned  Pen  Park,  he  placed  a  tablet  over  the  grave  of  her  who 
had  first  brought  him  to  this  spot.  The  inscription  upon  it  tells,  in 
brief,  nearly  the  whole  history  of  this  portion  of  his  life  —  for  it 
speaks  of  the  two  events  most  indelibly  impressed  upon  his  heart,  and 
the  sentiment  that  filled  up  the  interval  between  the  two  dates  to 
which  they  refer : 


76  CLERK  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  DELEGATES.    [1799—1802. 

"HERE  LIES  MILDRED, 

DAUGHTER  OF  GEORGE  AND  LUCY  GILMEH,  WIFE  OF  WILLIAM  WIRT 

She  was  born  August  15th,  1772,  married  May  28th,  1795,  and 
died  September  17th,  1799. 

Come  round  her  tomb  each  object  of  desire, 
Each  purer  frame  inflamed  with  purer  fire, 
Be  all  that 's  good,  that  cheers  and  softens  life, 
The  tender  sister,  daughter,  friend  and  wife, 
And  when  your  virtues  you  have  counted  o'er, 
Then  view  this  marble  and  be  vain  no  more"  * 

Thus  closed  a  short  episode  in  his  life,  which  comprehended  some 
five  years  of  early  manhood,  illustrated  by  his  first  access  of  that  circle 
of  friends  who  became  the  solace  of  his  after  days,  and  by  the  expe 
rience  of  the  purest  of  all  delights,  the  associations  of  the  domestic 
hearth,  its  affections  and  its  virtues. 

The  bitterness  of  that  misfortune  which  broke  in  upon  this  period 
of  content,  for  a  time  suspended  his  practice,  and  drove  him  to  other 
scenes  and  occupations.  He  went  to  Richmond,  where  the  Legis 
lature  was  in  session.  His  friends  in  that  body  persuaded  him  to 
become  a  candidate  for  the  post  of  clerk  of  the  House  of  Delegates. 
The  emoluments  of  this  office  were  sufficient  for  his  comfortable  sup 
port  ;  and  the  duties  belonging  to  it  were  not  so  engrossing  but  that 
he  might  pursue  his  profession  whilst  he  held  it.  The  office  itself 
was  one  of  sufficient  consideration  to  be  regarded  by  a  young  man,  to 
whom  all  public  station  was  new,  as  an  advancement  in  the  career  of 
life.  It  had  been  occupied  in  past  time,  by  Chancellor  Wythe,  by 
Edmund  Randolph,  and  others  of  name  and  fame  in  the  State.  Wirt 
was  elected,  and  forthwith  entered  upon  its  duties. 

This  appointment  was  so  far  serviceable  to  him  that  it  brought  him 
into  acquaintance  with  some  of  the  most  distinguished  men  of  the 
day.  Mr.  Madison,  whom  he  had  previously  known,  Mr.  Giles,  Mr. 
Taylor  of  Caroline,  and  Mr.  Nicholas,  were  members  of  the  Legisla 
ture  at  this  session.  Patrick  Henry  had  also  been  elected  to  a  seat 

*  T  am  almost  afraid  to  claim  these  verses  as  original.  But  I  believe  they 
were  written  by  Mr.  Wirt.  If  my  reader,  more  conversant  than  I  am  with 
the  stores  of  this  kind  of  literature,  should  be  able  to  trace  them  to  another 
author,  he  will  excuse  my  error.  They  resemble  in  style  and  structure  some 
few  poetical  effusions  of  Mr.  W.,  which  have  come  to  my  hands. 


CHAP.  VI.]  PATlilCK  IIKNRY.  77 

in  the  House  of  Delegates,  but  his  death;  which .  took  place  a  few 
months  after  his  election,  deprived  Wirt  of  the  opportunity  to  make 
a  personal  acquaintance  with,  or  even  to  see,  the  great  orator  whose 
fame  it  became  his  province  afterwards  to  commemorate. 

Mr.  Henry's  participation  in  this  Assembly  had  been  looked  to 
with  a  most  profound  interest  throughout  the  State.  The  celebrated 
Resolutions  of  Ninety-eight  had  passed  at  the  previous  session. 
Henry's  hostility  to  these  resolutions  had  awakened  his  characteristic 
zeal  in  the  cause  of  the  country,  and  had  brought  him  out  from  his 
retirement,  once  more  to  seek  active  duty  in  the  field  of  his  old  re 
nown.  This  was  at  a  time  when  his  constitution,  greatly  shaken  and 
enfeebled  by  disease,  had  left  him  physically  but  the  wreck  of  what 
he  had  been,  though  in  mental  power,  we  may  infer,  from  what  is 
told  of  the  eagerness  with  which  he  threw  himself  into  this  contest 
with  the  distinguished  men  who  sustained  the  resolutions,  his  infirm 
ities  had  not  yet  lessened  his  confidence,  nor  quenched  the  ardour 
of  his  matchless  eloquence.  He  had  sided  with  the  Federal  Govern 
ment  on  the  questions  which  gave  rise  to  those  resolutions ;  and  had 
expressed  himself  to  the  electors  in  his  county,  during  his  canvass,  in 
terms  of  deep  and  unalterable  hostility  against  the  position  which 
Virginia  had  assumed  at  this  crisis.  In  his  addresses,  on  this  occa 
sion,  to  the  people,  all  his  ancient  fire  seems  to  have  rekindled,  and 
there  was  every  indication  given  that,  in  the  approaching  session  of 
the  Legislature  to  which  he  was  elected,  his  monitory  voice  would  be 
heard  in  rebuke  of  the  proceeding  of  the  previous  Assembly,  as  clear 
and  as  stirring  in  its  notes,  as  of  old  it  had  been  heard,  above  the  din 
and  tumult  of  the  Revolution.  The  side  he  had  taken  on  this  ques 
tion  was  remarkably  unpopular.  It  was  in  opposition  to  the  opinions 
of  the  great  majority  of  the  people  of  Virginia,  and  to  that  of  the 
most  venerated  and  powerful  political  leaders.  His  hostility  had 
raised  Mr.  Madison  and  his  compeers,  to  whom  I  have  already  re 
ferred,  to  the  defence  of  the  resolutions,  and  it  was  every  where  hinted 
that  the  coming  session  was  to  be  one  of  extraordinary  interest.  So 
strong  was  the  feeling  against  Mr.  Henry  for  his  course  in  this  junc 
ture,  that  his  oldest  and  best  friends  were  alienated  from  him.  Some 
excused  what  was  called  his  aberrations,  on  the  ground  of  his  age  and 
infirmities;  others,  less  charitable,  imputed  them  to  worse  motives : — 
7* 


78  RESOLUTIONS  OF  NINETY-EIfiHT.         [1779—1802. 

all  looked  to  him,  however,  friend  and  enemy,  with  intense  interest, 
to  note  his  conduct,  hear  his  argument,  and  weigh  his  opinions ;  all 
conscious  that  in  this,  probably  the  last  scene  in  his  public  life,  a  great 
effort  would  be  made  to  sustain  his  fame.  Death  came  to  his  rescue, 
to  save  him  from  a  contest  in  which,  whatever  might  be  the  weight 
of  his  wisdom,  the  glory  of  his  eloquence,  or  the  integrity  of  his 
heart ;  however  brilliant  the  exhibition  of  all  these,  they  would  have 
proved  unavailing  either  to  conciliate  the  friendship  of  estranged  com 
patriots,  or  to  overcome  the  hostility  of  the  excited  numbers  who  had 
already  prejudged  and  condemned  him.  His  triumph  might,  in  no 
event,  be  won  for  the  day  in  which  he  lived.  Time  only  could  be  re 
garded  as  the  true  arbiter  of  his  wisdom.  Doubtless,  when  he  re 
solved  upon  that  contest,  he  sought  no  guerdon  of  applause  from  the 
present ;  he  looked  only  to  the  future.  The  sage  who  has  filled  the 
measure  of  his  days,  and  who,  standing  upon  the  margin  of  the  grave, 
has  no  longer  a  motive  to  temporize  with  human  passion  or  succumb 
to  personal  interests,  scruples  not  to  defy  the  world's  opinion  and  to 
utter  unwelcome  truth  to  the  generation  around  him,  —  has  even  a 
positive  pleasure  in  this  duty.  He  appeals  to  posterity  for  judgment, 
and  is  content  to  bide  its  coming.  Old  age  contemplating  its  access 
to  the  world  of  eternity,  instinctively  inclines  to  reckon  itself  as  asso 
ciated  with  the  future,  and  therefore  more  delights  to  speak  to  a 
coming  generation  than  to  that  which  it  is  about  to  leave. 

How  far  Mr.  Henry's  opinions,  in  regard  to  the  famous  "  Resolu 
tions  of  Ninety-eight/'  have  been  justified  by  what  has  been  deve 
loped  since,  is  a  speculation  which  may  amuse  those  who  take  plea 
sure  in  exploring  the  tendency  of  the  mind  to  exaggerate  the 
importance  of  political  events  in  the  time  of  their  bringing  forth,  and 
to  remark  how  often  and  how  significantly  Time  satirizes  man's 
wisdom  by  turning  the  current  of  his  fancied  great  exploits  into 
channels  which  lead  to  nothing,  losing  their  stream  in  the  sand. 
These  resolutions,  so  noted,  have  already  served  out  their  time,  and 
have  been  cast  into  the  great  receptacle  of  abstractions,  as  things  of 
no  useful  import.  Professing  to  be  expositions  of  the  constitution, 
they  already  require  expounders  themselves ;  and,  apparently,  being 
scarce  deemed  worthy  of  the  study  of  a  commentator,  they  have  been 
abandoned  to  their  fate.  They  are  now  seen  only  as  a  buoy,  floating 


CHAP.  VI.]  GAY  SOCIETY  OF  RICHMOND.  79 

where  there  is  no  shoal,  and  warning  the  navigator  of  dangers  to 
which  he  has  learned  to  trust  his  keel,  without  precaution  or  alarm. 

So  great,  however,  was  the  excitement  against  Mr.  Henry,  at  the 
time  to  which  I  have  referred,  that,  upon  the  announcement  of  his 
death  to  the  Legislature,  and  the  suggestion  of  a  monument  to  com 
memorate  the  gratitude  of  Virginia  in  behalf  of  the  great  patriot  and 
orator,  party  zeal  so  far  triumphed  over  the  honourable  pride  of  the 
representatives  of  the  State,  as  to  dismiss  the  proposition.  And, 
from  the  silence  of  the  journals  of  subsequent  legislatures  upon  this 
proposal,  the  dismissal  seems  to  have  been  final. 

Wirt  served,  in  his  new  office,  with  credit  and  full  public  approba 
tion  through  the  session,  and  was  re-elected  to  the  same  post  in  the 
two  succeeding  years.  If  the  society  which  Richmond  afforded  him, 
during  his  term  of  public  duty,  served  to  extend  his  acquaintance 
and  good  repute  with  those  whose  esteem  is  amongst  the  most  pre 
cious  things  of  life  to  a  young  man,  it  also  brought  him  into  some  of 
those  perils  to  which  he  was,  from  his  character,  peculiarly  exposed. 
The  Legislature  was  a  concourse  of  gay  and  ungoverned  youth,  as 
well  as  of  wise  and  sober  age.  The  city  in  which  the  Legislature  sat 
was  somewhat  noted,  of  old,  for  its  choice  spirits,  its  men  of  wit  and 
pleasure,  and  its  manifold  inducements  to  tax  the  discretion  of  those 
who  had  no  great  store  of  that  commodity  to  meet  the  requisition. 
The  young  clerk  of  the  House  was  a  great  favourite  with  all.  Every 
door  was  opened  to  him ;  every  gay  circle  welcomed  his  coming,  and 
the  favour  and  admiration  of  friends  were  overpaid  by  draughts  on  an 
exchequer  which  suffered  more  from  what  it  received  than  from  what 
it  disbursed, — a  witty  and  playful  spirit,  which  could  not  be  exhausted 
in  its  outpourings,  but  which,  too  often,  lost  its  guidance  in  the  cloud 
of  homage  it  brought  around  itself. 

This  portion  of  his  life,  Mr.  Wirt,  in  his  own  review  of  it,  was 
accustomed  to  consider  as  one  of  great  temptation.  Indeed,  in  the 
midst  of  its  enjoyments,  he  was  often  led  to  reflect  upon  the  necessity 
of  a  more  severe  devotion  to  his  better  aims,  as  he  conceived  them  to 
be,  in  the  steady  pursuit  of  his  profession. 

He  held  the  post  of  clerk  of  the  House  of  Delegates  during  three 
sessions  of  the  Legislature.  In  the  first  year  of  this  term  of  service, 
he  was  brought  somewhat  conspicuously  to  the  public  observation  as 


80  TRIAL  OF  CALLENDER.  [1799—1802. 

the  counsel  of  Callender.  This  person,  who  seems  to  have  made  a 
trade  of  libelling,  who  had  been  equally,  at  different  periods,  the 
calumniator  of  Washington,  of  Adams  and  of  Jefferson,  was  indicted, 
in  the  spring  of  1800,  at  the  instance  of  Samuel  Chase,  then  the  pre 
siding  Judge  of  the  Federal  Government  over  the  Circuit  which  com 
prehends  Ptichmond,  for  the  publication  of  a  pamphlet  which  had 
gained  an  extensive  notoriety,  at  that  period,  for  a  scandalous  assault 
upon  the  existing  administration.  This  pamphlet  was  entitled  "  The 
Prospect  before  us/'  and  is  yet  remembered  by  many  as  one  of  the 
most  pungent  and  acrimonious  tracts  connected  with  the  political 
excitements  of  that  day.  The  indictment  of  Callender  was  one  of  the 
first  prosecutions  under  the  sedition  law.  The  enactment  of  that  law 
had,  in  part,  supplied  the  topic  to  the  Virginia  Resolutions,  which,  as 
we  have  seen,  were  yet  a  prominent  subject  of  public  discussion. 
The  impolicy  of  this  law,  and  the  eager  denunciation  of  it  by  a  pow 
erful  and,  indeed,  now  predominant  party  in  the  Union,  gave  to  the 
prosecution  of  Callender  a  factitious  importance,  very  much  above 
what  either  the  book  or  its  author  might  have  challenged  on  the  score 
of  their  own  significance. 

The  counsel  for  Callender  were  George  Hay  and  Philip  Norborne 
Nicholas,  both  young  men  holding  a  most  respectable  position  at  the 
Richmond  bar.  Wirt  was  associated  with  them  in  the  cause,  and 
was  the  youngest  lawyer  of  the  three.  The  case  seems  to  have  been 
a  clear  one,  and  Callender  was  convicted.  In  the  impeachment  of 
Judge  Chase,  some  five  years  later,  before  the  Senate  of  the  United 
States,  it  was  charged  against  him,  in  reference  to  this  trial,  that  his 
conduct  during  the  whole  course  of  it  was  marked  "by  manifest 
injustice,  partiality  and  intemperance/'  Amongst  the  specifications 
to  sustain  this  charge  were  the  following : 

"In  the  use  of  unusual,  rude  and  contemptuous  expressions  to 
wards  the  prisoner's  counsel,  and  in  insinuating  that  they  wished  to 
excite  the  public  fears  and  indignation,  and  to  produce  that  insubor 
dination  to  law  to  which  the  conduct  of  the  judge  did,  at  the  same 
time,  manifestly  tend. 

"  In  repeated  and  vexatious  interruptions  of  the  said  counsel,  on 
the  part  of  the  said  judge,  which  at  length  induced  them  to  abandon 


CHAP.  VI.]  COURSE  OF  THE  TRIAL.  81 

their  cause  and  their  client,  who  was  thereupon  convicted  and  con 
demned  to  fine  and  imprisonment." 

Judge  Chase  was  known  to  be  of  a  peremptory  and  absolute  tem 
per  ;  and  the  testimony  upon  his  impeachment  shows,  what,  at  least, 
may  be  said  to  be,  a  severe  and  perhaps  discourteous  bearing  towards 
the  counsel  in  this  case.  But,  as  an  answer  to  the  charge  of  manifest 
injustice,  partiality  and  intemperance  in  his  demeanour,  the  unani 
mous  vote  of  acquittal — the  only  unanimous  vote  of  the  Senate  in  the 
case, — is  conclusive. 

We  may  infer,  therefore,  that  the  abandonment  of  the  defence  of 
Callender  by  his  counsel,  was  one  of  those  theatrical  incidents — coups 
de  theatre — which  ingenious  advocates  are  sometimes  known  to  con 
trive,  as  more  efficacious  in  the  way  of  defence,  than  the  attempt  to 
breast  an  array  of  inevitable  and  discomfiting  facts.  Such  a  device 
seems  well  suited  to  a  state  trial,  in  which  auditors  and  jury  are  sup 
posed  to  have  all  their  sympathies  and  good  wishes  with  the  prisoner. 
It  was  a  political  affair,  in  public  estimation,  and  the  retirement  of 
counsel,  under  the  pretext  of  being  driven  off  by  the  hectoring  temper 
of  the  judge  politically  hostile  to  the  prisoner,  was  likely  to  be  re 
garded  not  as  a  confession  of  the  guilt  of  their  client,  but  as  an 
appeal  to  the  jury,  and  an  invocation  to  them  to  take  him  into  their 
protection.  The  facts,  however,  were  too  clear  against  Callender,  and 
the  adroit  counsel  were  disappointed  in  the  efficacy  of  the  movement, 
if  it  were  dictated  by  the  considerations  I  have  suggested. 

We  must,  however,  confess  that  the  dogmatism  of  the  judge,  not 
to  say  the  positive  harshness  of  his  treatment  of  the  counsel,  may 
have  been  the  true  and  only  motive  for  their  retirement ;  although 
the  point  might  be  strongly  argued  against  the  right  of  an  advocate, 
in  a  cause  which  he  conscientiously  believes  to  be  good,  to  desert  his 
client  and  leave  him  to  his  fate,  under  any  amount  of  provocation  or 
insult  from  a  judge,  which  did  not  actually  disable  him  from  perform 
ing  his  duty. 

Mr.  Hay  and  Mr.  Nicholas  were  both  examined  as  witnesses  on 
the  impeachment.  From  their  testimony  it  appears  that  the  chief, 
if  not  the  only  defence  of  Callender,  was  upon  the  constitutionality 
of  the  sedition  law,  which  point,  it  would  seem,  they  were  desirous 
should  be  submitted  to  the  jury.  The  judge  was  known  to  be  unal- 


82  COURSE  OF  THE  TRIAL.  [1779—1802. 

terable  in  his  view  of  the  constitutional  question ;  and  there  being  no 
hope  from  him,  the  counsel  insisted  upon  the  power  and  the  right  of 
the  jury  to  nullify  the  act  of  Congress;  — a  heresy,  we  may  call  it. 
which  has  been  revived  in  a  later  day,  and  which  has  fared  no  better 
with  the  American  people  than  it  did  upon  its  first  production,  with 
Judge  Chase.  This  doctrine,  the  first  and  almost  the  only  fruit  of 
the  Resolutions  of  Ninety-eight,  has  been,  from  first  to  last,  a  Dead 
Sea  apple  which  has  crumbled  into  dust  whenever  it  has  been  lifted 
to  the  lips. 

Our  young  advocate  figures  in  this  scene.  I  extract  what  relates 
to  him  from  Mr.  Hay's  testimony  before  the  Senate. 

"  It  was  the  intention  of  the  counsel  of  Callender,"  says  that  gen 
tleman,  upon  his  examination,  "  to  defend  him  on  the  ground  of  the 
unconstitutionally  of  the  sedition  law.  The  gentlemen  who  were 
associated  with  me  preceded  me  in  the  argument,  but  were  not  per 
mitted  to  address  the  jury  on  the  point  I  mentioned.  The  treatment 
experienced  by  Mr.  Wirt,  I  have,  in  some  degree,  related.  He  was 
interrupted  two  or  three  times  by  the  judge,  for  the  purpose  of  tell 
ing  him  that  the  doctrine  for  which  he  was  contending, — that  the  jury 
had  the  right  of  determining  the  law  as  well  as  the  fact, — was  true. 
Mr.  Wirt  then  stated  t  that  the  constitution  was  the  supreme  law  of 
the  land/  Judge  Chase  told  him  '  there  was  no  necessity  for  proving 
that ;  Mr.  Wirt  then  went  on  to  argue  i  that  if  the  constitution  was 
the  supreme  law,  and  if  the  jury  had  a  right  to  determine  both  the 
law  and  fact  of  the  case,  the  conclusion  was  perfectly  syllogistic,  that 
the  jury  had  a  right  to  determine  upon  the  constitutionality  of  the 
law/  " 

Upon  this,  the  same  testimony  states,  Judge  Chase  replied,  "  That's 
a  non  sequitur,  sir/' 

"  At  the  same  time,"  says  Mr.  Hay,  "  he  bowed  with  an  air  of 
derision.  Whether  Mr.  Wirt,"  he  continues,  "  said  any  thing  after 
this,  I  do  not  recollect."  Mr.  Hay  then  detailed  his  own  course  in 
the  argument :  his  urging  upon  the  judge  that  this  was  a  question  for 
the  jury — u  I  stated  to  the  court,  in  terms  as  distinct  as  I  could,  the 
specific  purpose  for  which  I  meant  to  contend.  I  think  it  was,  that 
the  jury  had  a  right  to  determine  every  question  which  was  to  deter 
mine  the  guilt  or  innocence  of  the  traverser.  The  judge  asked  me 


CHAP.  VI.]  SINGULAR  INCIDENT.  83 

whether  I  laid  down  this  doctrine  in  civil,  as  well  as  criminal  cases ; 
*  because/  said  he,  '  if  you  do,  you  are  wrong.'  I  replied  that  I  con 
sidered  it  universally  true,  but  that  it  was  sufficient  for  my  purpose, 
if  it  applied  to  criminal  cases  only.  I  went  on  as  well  as  I  was  able 
with  the  argument,  when  I  was  again  interrupted  by  the  judge. 
What  the  circumstances  were,  or  the  words  used,  I  do  not  recollect. 
I  believe  that  I  was  interrupted  more  than  twice.  My  impressions 
then  being,  that  /  should  be  obliged  to  undergo  more  humiliation  than 
I  conceived  necessary,  I  retired  from  the  bar.  "When  Judge  Chase 
found  I  was  about  retiring,  he  told  me  to  go  on.  I  told  him  that  1 1 
would  not/  He  said  (  there  was  no  necessity  for  my  being  captious/ 
I  replied  that  '  I  was  not  captious,  and  that  I  would  not  proceed ;'  and 
immediately  retired  from  the  bar,  and,  I  believe,  from  the  room  in 
which  the  court  was  held/' 

Mr.  Nicholas  says,  after  Mr.  Wirt  sat  down,  "  I  followed  him,  and 
was  not  interrupted  by  the  judge.  Mr.  Hay  followed  me,  and  ob 
served  that  the  jury  had  a  right  to  decide  the  law.  Mr.  Chase  asked 
him  whether  he  meant  in  civil  as  well  as  in  criminal  cases,  because  if 
he  did,  he  was  wrong.  Mr.  Hay  replied  that  he  conceived  the  pro 
position  to  be  universally  true — but  that  it  was  sufficient  for  his  pur 
pose  if  it  applied  to  criminal  cases.  He  then  proceeded  a  little  further, 
and  was  again  interrupted  by  the  judge.  Mr.  Hay  then  stopped, 
folded  up  his  papers,  and  left  the  court ;  and  we  left  it  at  the  same 
time.  What  happened  afterwards,  I  know  not." 

So,  the  three  young  lawyers  trooped  out  of  court,  with  their  papers 
bundled  up.  Hay  led  the  van,  and  young  Wirt,  with  his  laughing 
eye,  and  sly,  waggish  face,  casting  queer  glances,  no  doubt,  right  and 
left,  amongst  the  bar  inside  of  the  railing,  and  the  spectators  outside, 
brought  up  the  rear. 

This  was  a  scene  under  the  Resolutions  of  Ninety-eight.  Callen- 
der,  we  must  suppose,  quailed  now,  on  being  deserted  by  his  cham 
pions,  before  the  awful  majesty  of  Chase's  brow.  The  jury,  we  may 
imagine  too,  were  affected  to  indignation  and  anger,  and  the  crowd 
moved  to  pity  at  Callender's  forlorn  and  friendless  state.  The  bar 
perhaps,  indulged  a  little  secret  comment, — whispered  in  their  sleeves, 
some  laughing  hints  of  miscarriage ; — and  the  three  retired  counsel, 
after  wearing  the  face  of  indignant  patriotism  for  a  limited  time,  when 


84  JUDGE  CHASE  — NULLIFICATION.         [1799—1802- 

they  got  together  at  one  or  the  others'  office,  we  must  believe,  had 
some  rather  jocular  misgivings  whether  Callender  would  fare  the  bet 
ter  for  this  first  effort  at  nullification ;  or  congratulated  themselves  at 
getting  out  of  a  case  that  was  pretty  sure  to  go  awry. 

When  Judge  Chase  came  to  deliver  the  opinion  of  the  court,  his 
language,  in  reference  to  the  question  which  seems  to  have  raised  the 
indignation  of  the  counsel,  was  as  follows  : 

"  I  will  assign  my  reasons  why  I  will  not  permit  the  counsel  for 
the  traverser  to  offer  arguments  to  the  jury,  to  urge  them  to  do  what 
the  constitution  and  law  of  this  country  will  not  permit,  and  which 
if  I  should  allow,  I  should,  in  my  judgment,  violate  my  duty,  disre 
gard  the  constitution  and  law,  and  surrender  up  the  judicial  power  of 
the  United  States. 


"  The  statute  on  which  the  traverser  is  indicted,  enacts  l  that  the 
jury  who  shall  try  the  cause  shall  have  a  right  to  determine  the  law 
and  the  fact,  under  the  direction  of  the  court,  as  in  other  cases/  By 
this  provision,  I  understand  that  a  right  is  given  to  the  jury  to  deter 
mine  what  the  law  is  in  the  case  before  them,  and  not  to  decide 
whether  a  statute  of  the  United  States  produced  to  them  is  a  law  or 
not,  or  whether  it  is  void  under  an  opinion  that  it  is  unconstitutional 
— that  is,  contrary  to  the  constitution  of  the  United  States. 
****** 

"  I  cannot  conceive  that  a  right  is  given  to  the  petit  jury  to  deter 
mine  whether  the  statute,  under  which  they  claim  this  right,  is  con 
stitutional  or  not.  To  determine  the  validity  of  the  statute,  the  Con 
stitution  of  the  United  States  must  necessarily  be  resorted  to  and 
considered,  and  its  provisions  inquired  into.  It  must  be  determined 
whether  the  statute  alleged  to  be  void,  because  contrary  to  the  Consti 
tution,  is  prohibited  by  it  expressly  or  by  necessary  implication.  Was 
it  ever  intended  by  the  framers  of  the  Constitution,  or  by  the  people 
of  America,  that  it  should  ever  be  submitted  to  the  examination  of  a 
jury  to  decide  what  restrictions  are  expressly  or .  impliedly  imposed 
by  it  on  the  National  Legislature  ?  I  cannot  possibly  believe  that 
Congress  intended  by  the  statute  to  grant  a  right  to  a  petit  jury  to 
declare  a  statute  void.  The  man  who  maintains  this  position  must 


CHAP.  VI.]  FOURTH  OF  JULY  ORATION.  85 

have  a  most  contemptible  opinion  of  the  understanding  of  that  body. 
But  I  believe  the  defect  lies  with  himself." 

This  is  a  short  extract  from  an  opinion  at  some  length,  in  which 
the  question  is  most  ably  argued.  Whether  the  concluding  remark 
of  the  paragraph  above  quoted,  was  designed  as  a  reflection  personal 
to  the  counsel  in  the  case,  or  not,  it  certainly  may  be  regarded  as  dis 
courteous,  and  indicative,  perhaps,  of  some  degree  of  temper,  which 
we  may  believe  to  have  been  roused  by  the  collision  which  the  trial 
produced.  If  there  was  any  purpose  of  reflection  upon  the  counsel  in 
it,  we  have  reason  to  infer  that  it  was  not  specially  provoked  by  the 
deportment  of  Wirt,  towards  whom  the  judge  seems  to  have  retained 
the  kindest  feelings.  Speaking  of  the  incidents  of  his  trial  on  the 
impeachment,  soon  after  it  was  concluded,  to  a  friend  of  the  young 
counsellor,  after  whom  he  had  inquired  with  an  affectionate  interest, 
he  remarked :  "  They  did  not  summon  him  on  my  trial.  Had  I 
known  it,  I  might  have  summoned  him  myself.  Yet  it  was  only  to 
that  young  man  I  said  any  thing  exceptionable,  or  which  I  have 
thought  of  with  regret  since." 

The  trial  of  Callender  took  place  in  May,  1800.  On  the  fourth  of 
July  following,  Wirt  delivered  an  anniversary  oration,  for  which  pur 
pose  he  had  been  selected  by  the  democratic  party  in  Richmond.  It 
is  characterised  by  the  author  of  the  memoir  to  whom  I  am  indebted 
for  so  many  particulars  contained  in  this  narrative,  as  i(  fervid  and 
rapid,"  "unpremeditated"  in  its  manner,  and  is  said  to  have  been 
pronounced  "  so  little  like  other  prepared  orations  as  to  have  been 
thought  extemporary." 

In  the  early  period  of  his  professional  life,  as  we  have  already  re 
marked,  his  elocution  was  far  from  being  easy  and  unembarrassed. 
It  was  of  that  character  which  would  be  most  likely  to  impart  the  idea 
that  even  a  prepared  oration,  such  as  this  to  which  the  memoir  alludes, 
was  the  extemporaneous  production  of  the  occasion.  The  hesitation 
at  one  moment,  the  too  rapid  flow  of  utterance  at  another,  and  frequent 
stammering,  might  leave  such  an  impression  on  the  hearer.  Mr.  Wirt, 
in  speaking  of  his  difficulties  in  this  particular,  once  said  to  a  friend : 
"  My  pronunciation  and  gesture  at  this  time  were  terribly  vehement. 
I  used  sometimes  to  find  myself  literally  stopped,  by  too  great  rapidity 
of  utterance.  And  if  any  poor  mortal  was  ever  forced  to  struggle 

VOL.  L  — 8 


86  ELECTED  CHANCELLOR.  [1802—1803. 

against  a  difficulty,  it  was  I,  in  that  matter.  But  my  stammering 
Became  at  last  a  martyr  to  perseverance ;  and,  except  when  I  get  some 
of  my  youthful  fires  lighted,  I  can  manage  to  be  pretty  intelligible 
now." 

This  was  his  recollection,  after  the  lapse  of  many  years,  and  was 
always  pleasantly  dwelt  upon  by  him,  as  coupled  with  the  reflection 
how  completely  he  had  vanquished  these  difficulties  of  enunciation,  by 
careful  attention  and  judicious  practice. 


CHAPTER   VII. 

1802—1803 

ELECTED  TO  THE  POST  OF  CHANCELLOR VALUE  OF  THIS  AP 
POINTMENT REASONS  FOR  ACCEPTING  IT COL.  ROBERT  GAM 
BLE COURTSHIP A  THEATRICAL  INCIDENT SECOND  MAR 
RIAGE  —  REMOVES  TO  WILLIAMSBURG LETTERS  TO  CARR 

RESIGNS    THE     CHANCELLORSHIP,    AND    DETERMINES    TO    GO   TO 
NORFOLK. 

IN  the  session  of  the  Legislature  which  terminated  in  the  winter  of 
1802,  the  last  of  the  three  sessions  in  which  Wirt  was  the  clerk  of 
the  House  of  Delegates,  an  act  was  passed  for  dividing  the  Chancery 
jurisdiction  of  the  State  into  three  districts.  Heretofore  the  whole 
of  this  jurisdiction  had  been  vested  in  a  single  Chancellor ;  and  the 
venerable  George  Wythe  had,  for  a  long  period,  discharged  its  duties, 
with  a  fidelity  and  learned  skill  which  have  placed  him  in  the  rank 
of  the  most  eminent  jurists  of  the  country.  The  increasing  business 
of  the  court,  however,  had  now  rendered  it  indispensable  that  the 
labour  should  be  distributed,  and  the  Legislature  had  therefore  passed 
the  act  to  which  I  have  referred. 

The  clerk  of  the  House  was  agreeably  surprised,  before  the  close 
of  this  session,  to  find  that  the  Legislature  had  selected  him  for  one 
of  these  new  appointments.  He  was  altogether  ignorant  of  their  pur 
pose  to  confer  this  honour  upon  him,  until  the  moment  when  he  was 
requested  to  withdraw  from  the  House  of  Delegates,  in  order  that  his 


CHAP.  VII.]  DIFFIDENCE  OF  WIRT.  87 

nomination  might  be  made  and  the  election  proceeded  with.  He  was 
elected  by  a  unanimous  vote.  An  honour  of  such  magnitude,  con 
ferred  under  such  circumstances,  speaks  very  intelligibly  as  to  the 
estimation  in  which  the  subject  of  it  was  held.  He  was  at  this  time 
twenty-nine  years  of  age.  He  had  the  professional  experience  of  his 
country  practice  in  Albemarle,  and  that  of  some  two  years  in  the  more 
extended  theatre  of  the  Richmond  courts  j  but  he  was  still  what  might 
be  considered  a  junior  at  the  bar,  and  scarcely  in  a  position  to  attract 
the  public  attention  for  a  post  so  grave  and  responsible  in  its  duties 
as  a  Chancellor,  unless  we  suppose  him  to  have  given  decided  and 
satisfactory  manifestations  of  a  capability  to  attain  high  eminence  in 
his  profession.  It  had  not  entered  into  his  imaginings  to  expect  such 
a  mark  of  favour  from  the  Legislature.  The  same  diffidence  in  him 
self  which  forbade  him  to  solicit  such  a  distinction,  now  wrought  in 
him  some  perturbation  of  spirit  in  the  accepting  of  it.  It  is  not  always 
the  quality  of  true  genius  to  distrust  itself,  for  there  are  instances  of 
men  of  the  brightest  parts  obtruding  themselves  upon  the  public,  with 
that  eager  self-commendation  which  we  are  accustomed  to  call  vanity 
in  weaker  minds }  but  this  attribute  of  diffidence  is  so  generally  the 
accompaniment  of  youthful  merit,  that  we  scarcely  err  when  we  reckon 
upon  it  as  one  of  the  signs  by  which  we  may  prophesy  future  success. 
So  full  of  apprehension  was  the  newly-designated  Chancellor  on  this 
occasion,  of  his  ability  to  acquit  himself  in  this  high  function  with 
credit  and  usefulness,  that,  it  is  told  of  him,  he  called  upon  the  Gro- 
vernor,  Mr.  Monroe, — then,  and  always  afterwards,  his  friend,  and 
who  most  probably  had  something  to  do  with  the  nomination, — to 
communicate  his  doubts  and  fears  as  to  his  suitableness,  either  in  age 
or  acquirement,  for  the  post.  "Mr.  Monroe,"  says  my  authority, 
"  replied,  that  the  Legislature,  he  doubted  not,  knew  very  well  what 
it  was  doing,  and  that  it  was  not  probable  he  would  disappoint  cither 
it  or  the  suitors  of  the  court."  * 

The  district  assigned  to  him  in  this  appointment,  comprehended  the 
eastern  shore  of  Virginia  and  the  tide-water  counties  below  Richmond. 
The  duties  of  the  station  required  that  he  should  reside  in  Williams- 
burg,  a  point  rich  in  associations  with  the  history  of  the  State,  and 
where  was  to  be  found  a  cultivated  and  refined  society,  in  every  re- 

*  Cruse's  Memoir. 


88  REASONS  FOR  ACCEPTING.  [1802—1803, 

epect  most  likely  to  prove  agreeable  to  the  tastes  of  the  new  func 
tionary. 

In  adverting  to  this  appointment  and  its  consequences,  in  the  fol 
lowing  letter  to  his  friend  Carr,  written  after  he  had  reached  Wil- 
liamsburg,  he  reveals  the  considerations  which  influenced  him,  in 
terms  which  show  how  justly  and  how  deeply  he  was  impressed  with 
the  necessity  of  a  more  sedate  pursuit  of  those  better  aims  in  life  to 
which  I  have  more  than  once  referred.  It  will  be  remarked,  in  the 
reading  of  the  first  paragraph  of  this  letter,  that  Carr  was  desirous  to 
obtain  the  clerkship  just  made  vacant  by  the  preferment  of  his  friend. 

WILLIAMSBURG,  February  12,  1802. 
MY  DEAR  DABNEY: 

This  moment  I  received  yours  of  the  5th.  First,  with  regard  to 
the  clerkship.  You  will  have  heard,  before  this  reaches  you,  that  on 
the  evening  preceding  the  last  day  of  the  session,  James  Pleasants 
was  elected  clerk,  for  the  purpose  of  making  his  way  easy  at  the  next 
session.  If,  after  this,  you  determine  to  offer  for  the  place,  you  may 
expect  from  me  all  that  the  warmest  friendship  can  perform.  And 
though  I  am  removed  from  the  immediate  scene  of  action,  I  flatter 
myself  I  could  be  of  service  to  you. 

•*  #•  #•  •*  *  -x- 

Now,  for  my  honour. As  to  the  profit,  it  is  a  decent  main 
tenance.  Next  year,  the  probability  is,  it  will  be  worth  five  hundred 
pounds, — on  which  I  can  live.  And  although  the  clerkship,  together 
with  my  practice,  would  have  produced  more  cash,  yet  it  was  preca 
rious,  and  therefore  subjected  me  to  the  hazard  of  living  beyond  its 
limits.  It  was  earned,  too,  by  that  kind  of  labour  which  left  no  op 
portunity  for  the  further  cultivation  of  the  mind. 

There  is  another  reason,  entre  nous.  I  wished  to  leave  Richmond 
on  many  accounts.  I  dropped  into  a  circle  dear  to  me  for  the  amiable 
and  brilliant  traits  which  belonged  to  it,  but  in  which  I  had  found, 
that  during  several  months,  I  was  dissipating  my  health,  my  time, 
my  money  and  my  reputation.  This  conviction  dwelt  so  strongly,  so 
incessantly  on  my  mind  that  all  my  cheerfulness  forsook  me,  and  I 
awoke  many  a  morning  with  the  feelings  of  a  madman. 

I  had  resolved  to  leave  Richmond,  and  was  meditating  only  a 
decent  pretext  to  cover  my  retreat.  In  this  perplexity,  the  appoint 
ment  descended  upon  me,  unsolicited,  unthought  of,  with  the  benevo 
lent  grace  of  a  guardian  angel.  Yes,  my  dear  Dabney,  if  I  do  not 
fill  the  office  with  justice,  at  least,  to  my  country,  it  shall  not  be  for 
want  of  unremitting  effort  on  my  part. 

•*  #•  -x-  *  *  * 

Your  friend, 

WM.  WIRT. 


CHAP.  VII.]  COL.   ROBERT   GAMBLE.  89 

The  Chancellor  entered  upon  his  employment,  as  we  may  infer 
from  this  letter,  with  a  hearty  resolve  to  make  this  event  an  era  from 
which  he  might  date  the  beginning  of  a  graver  and  more  steadfast 
career  of  duty  and  self-control. 

During  his  residence  in  Richmond,  his  good  fortune  brought  him 
into  an  intimacy  with  the  family  of  Colonel  Robert  Gamble.  This 
gentleman  was  a  merchant  in  that  city,  and  was  greatly  esteemed  for 
his  probity  and  intelligence.  He  was  wealthy,  or,  at  least,  in  the 
enjoyment  of  a  competency  which  enabled  him  to  practise  a  liberal 
hospitality.  His  fireside  was  familiar  to  the  most  cultivated  society 
of  the  time.  His  manners  were  grave  and  thoughtful,  such  as  attract 
the  deference  of  the  elder  portions  of  the  community,  and  command 
the  reverence  of  the  young. 

The  clerk  of  the  House  of  Delegates  had  a  special  motive,  beyond 
that  of  his  companions  who  frequented  Colonel  Gamble's  house,  to 
desire  his  good  opinion.  His  unguarded  life,  unfortunately,  rendered 
this,  perhaps,  a  more  hazardous  venture,  than  many  others  found  it. 
His  intimacy  brought  him  within  the  sphere  of  the  attraction  of  one 
who  was  destined  to  become  the  guardian  spirit  of  his  life.  It  was 
not  long  after  the  period  to  which  our  narrative  has  now  arrived,  that 
Elizabeth,  the  second  daughter  of  Col.  Gamble,  became  the  wife  of 
the  subject  of  this  memoir.  Of  all  the  fortunate  incidents  in  the  life 
of  William  Wirt,  his  marriage  with  this  lady  may  be  accounted  the 
most  auspicious.  During  the  long  term  of  their  wedlock,  distinguished 
for  its  happy  influence  upon  the  fortunes  of  both,  her  admirable  vir 
tues,  in  the  character 'of  wife  and  mother,  her  tender  affection  and 
watchful  solicitude  in  every  thing  that  interested  his  domestic  regard, 
and  in  all  that  concerned  his  public  repute,  commanded  from  him  a 
devotion  which,  to  the  last  moment  of  his  life,  glowed  with  an  ardour 
that  might  almost  be  called  romantic. 

In  the  many  letters  which  have  been  preserved,  written  by  Mr. 
"VVirt  to  his  wife,  beginning  in  the  earliest  period  of  their  acquaint 
ance,  and  continued  to  the  last,  most  of  which  have  passed  under  the 
review  of  the  author  of  this  biography, — if  such  confidences  could  be 
published  to  the  world,  they  would  exhibit  to  the  reader  the  most 
agreeable  evidences  of  an  attachment  of  which  time  had  no  power  to 
dull  the  edge,  and  which  not  less  intensely  engrossed  the  affections 
8* 


90  A   THEATRICAL   INCIDENT.  [1802—1803. 

of  his  mature  age,  than  it  commanded  the  worship  of  his  early  man 
hood.  No  eulogy  can  better  express  the  merit  of  a  woman,  than  such 
a  tribute  from  one  so  able  to  observe,  and  so  formed  to  appreciate 
female  excellence. 

This  prize  was  not  won  without  many  apprehensions.  The  lover 
had  not  yet  given  that  hostage  to  fortune  which  might  be  said  to 
strengthen  the  assurance  of  the  father  in  the  success  of  the  young 
votary. 

The  giving  away  a  daughter's  hand  is  a  perilous  and  responsible 
office  to  a  parent.  Men  weigh  this  matter,  often,  with  painful 
anxiety,  even  when  the  foundations  for  hope  are  strongest.  The 
clerk  of  the  House,  we  must  admit,  was  not  in  the  safest  category  for 
a  father's  ready  consent.  There  are  some  men  who  ripen  early,  and, 
at  eight  or  nine  and  twenty,  have  their  full  freight  of  discretion  and 
judgment.  There  are  others  whose  boyhood  runs  into  a  later  date. 
Wirt  was  one  of  these,  as  they  who  were  intimate  with  him  in 
advanced  life  might  testify.  A  certain  boyishness  of  character,  if  I 
may  call  it  so,  did  not  altogether  desert  his  mature  age,  and,  indeed, 
often  disputed  the  mastery  in  it. 

Colonel  Gamble,  the  story  goes,  had  his  doubts  whether  the  suitor 
should  be  presently  sped  in  his  enterprise,  or  whether  he  should 
wait  for  a  longer  probation.  When  he  was  consulted  by  the  mis 
giving  candidate  on  that  awful  point,  "to  be,  or  not  to  be,"  there 
was  some  demur,  and  the  young  gentleman  was  put  upon  his  good 
behaviour. 

During  this  interval,  as  the  tale  has  been  told,  Colonel  Gamble 
had  occasion,  one  summer  morning,  at  sunrise,  to  visit  his  future  son- 
in-law's  office.  It  unluckily  happened  that  Wirt  had,  the  night 
before,  brought  some  young  friends  there,  and  they  had  had  a  merry 
time  of  it,  which  had  so  beguiled  the  hours,  that  even  now,  at  sun 
rise,  they  had  not  separated.  The  Colonel  opened  the  door,  little 
expecting  to  find  any  one  there  at  that  hour.  His  eyes  fell  upon  the 
strangest  group !  There  stood  Wirt,  with  the  poker  in  his  right 
hand,  the  sheet-iron  blower  fastened  upon  his  left  arm,  which  was 
thrust  through  the  handle ;  on  his  head  was  a  tin  wash-basin,  and,  as 
to  the  rest  of  his  dress — it  was  hot  weather,  and  the  hero  of  this 
grotesque  scene  had  dismissed  as  much  of  his  trappings  as  comfort 


CHAP.  VIL]  SECOND  MARRIAGE.  91 

might  be  supposed  to  demand,  substituting  for  them  a  light  wrapper 
that  greatly  added  to  the  theatrical  effect.  There  he  stood,  in  this 
whimsical  caparison,  reciting,  with  an  abundance  of  stage  gesticula 
tion,  Falstaff's  onset  upon  the  thieves.  His  back  was  to  the  door. 
The  opening  of  it  drew  all  attention.  We  may  imagine  the  queer 
look  of  the  anxious  probationer,  as  Colonel  Gamble,  with  a  grave  and 
mannerly  silence,  bowed  and  withdrew,  closing  the  door  behind  him 
without  the  exhange  of  a  word. 

How  long  this  untoward  incident  might  have  deferred  the  hopes 
of  the  young  people,  we  cannot  say ;  but  the  promotion  to  the  Chan 
cellorship  came  in,  most  opportunely,  to  sustain  the  pretensions  of  the 
lover,  and  to  furnish  a  new  pledge  for  his  future  sedateness ;  and  all 
further  trial  was  dispensed  with.  He  was  married  in  Richmond,  on 
the  7th  of  September,  1802. 

He  held  the  Chancellorship  but  some  six  or  seven  months  after  his 
marriage.  The  duties  attached  to  it  were  onerous,  exacting  nearly 
all  his  time,  whilst  they  excluded  him  from  that  various  practice  upon 
which  he  had  built  his  hopes  of  eminence.  The  salary  was  too  small 
to  meet  the  demands  of  a  family,  and  at  his  time  of  life  he  felt  that 
such  a  post  was  to  be  regarded  rather  as  an  impediment  to  his  pro 
gress  than  a  furtherance.  The  chief  advantage  to  be  derived  from  it 
was  the  testimony  it  gave  to  the  world  of  his  standing  in  his  profes 
sion,  and  that  benefit  was  not  likely  to  be  greatly  enhanced  by  his 
continuing  to  hold  it.  A  judicial  appointment,  in  this  country,  may 
justly  be  regarded  as  the  appropriate  honour  of  professional  life  after 
the  active  period  of  ambitious  labour  is  past.  It  is  best  adapted  to 
that  stage  when  men  may  be  supposed  anxious  to  exchange  the 
severer  toils  of  practice  for  honourable  elevation,  and  for  the  leisure 
that  may  enable  them  to  digest  and  improve  the  studies  which,  in  the 
importunities  of  full  occupation  at  the  bar,  generally  produce  fruits 
•more  abundant  than  ripe.  But  to  a  young  lawyer,  stimulated  by  the 
hope  of  fame  and  by  the  ardour  of  genius,  intent  upon  mastering  his 
profession  and  turning  it  to  good  account  in  the  attainment  of  wealth, 
such  an  appointment  is  but  a  hindrance  at  every  step  after  the  first. 

These  considerations  were  brought  very  cogently  to  his  mind  in  the 
position  in  which  he  now  found  himself.  In  the  month  of  November 
he  removed  his  wife  to  Williamsburg,  and  devoted  himself  throughout 


—1803. 


92  REMOVES  TO  WILLIAMSBURG.  [1802 

the  ensuing  winter  with  assiduity  to  the  duties  of  his  office.  During 
this  period  he  made  up  his  mind  to  relinquish  his  judicial  honours, 
and  to  throw  himself  once  more  upon  his  profession.  The  public 
attention  was  at  that  time  strongly  drawn  to  Kentucky,  as  a  field 
especially  propitious  to  the  enterprise  of  the  young.  Numbers  of  the 
most  respectable  families  of  Virginia  had  already  migrated  to  that 
State,  and  the  marvels  of  its  rapid  growth  and  teeming  prosperity 
were  recounted  with  such  commendation  as  to  raise  a  general  fervour 
in  behalf  of  settlement  in  this  El  Dorado  of  the  West.  We  have 
since  become  familiar  with  these  charms  of  western  adventure,  and 
have  seen  the  vast  wilderness  beyond  the  Allegany  spriDg  into  civi 
lization,  refinement  and  luxury,  with  an  impulse  that  even  transcends 
all  that  the  excited  imagination  of  the  day  to  which  our  narrative 
refers  ever  promised.  At  that  time,  however,  the  promise  was  mainly 
directed  to  Kentucky,  and  thither  the  tide  of  emigration  from  Vir 
ginia  and  the  other  central  States  chiefly  tended. 

Wirt  was  caught  by  this  common  fervour,  and  began  seriously  to 
meditate  upon  a  removal  to  the  new  country.  Friends  in  Kentucky 
urged  him  to  come,  painting  to  him  in  glowing  colours  the  success 
and  advancement  that  awaited  him.  Friends  in  Virginia  advised  him 
to  go,  seconding  and  confirming  all  the  arguments  which  the  first  had 
used  in  the  way  of  inducement.  There  was,  however,  one  richly 
deserving  the  name  of  a  true  and  generous  friend,  who  advised  a  con 
trary  resolve,  and  entreated  him  to  remain  in  Virginia.  This  gen 
tleman  was  Littleton  Waller  Tazewell,  then  a  most  prominent  member 
of  the  Norfolk  bar,  and  subsequently  greatly  distinguished  through 
out  Virginia  and  the  Union  as  one  of  the  leading  lawyers  and  poli 
ticians  of  that  State.  His  advice  to  Wirt  was  to  adhere  to  that  society 
in  which  he  had  already  experienced  so  much  favour,  and  to  establish 
his  hopes  of  advancement  upon  the  exercise  of  his  talents  at  the  bar 
of  Virginia.  To  enforce  this  solicitation,  Mr.  Tazewell  offered  to 
share  with  him  his  own  practice  in  Norfolk,  and  to  throw  in  his  way 
every  advantage  which  his  legal  connections  might  put  at  his  dis 
posal.  The  letters  which  follow  to  his  friend  have  a  reference  to 
these  questions,  amongst  others,  which  are  debated  with  a  pleasant 
mixture  of  good  sense  and  gaiety  of  temper  particularly  characteristic 
'if  the  writer. 


CHAP.  VII.]  LETTER  TO  CARR.  93 

TO   DABNEY   CARR. 

RICHMOND,  February  13,  1803. 
CARISSIME  CURRUS: 

****** 

This  honour  of  being  a  Chancellor  is  a  very  empty  thing,  stomach- 
ically  speaking;  that  is,  although  a  man  be  full  of  honour  his  sto 
mach  may  be  empty;  or,  in  other  words,  honour  will  not  go  to 
market  and  buy  a  peck  of  potatoes.  On  fifteen  hundred  dollars  a 
year,  I  can  live,  but  if  death  comes  how  will  my  wife  and  family  live  ? 
Her  father  and  mother  perhaps  dead,  her  sisters  and  brothers  dis 
persed  to  the  ends  of  the  earth,  what  will  become  of  her  ?  This  is 
the  only  rub  that  clogs  the  wheels  of  my  bliss,  but  it  is  in  my  power 
to  remove  even  this  rub,  and,  in  the  event  of  my  death,  in  a  few 
years  to  leave  my  wife  and  children  independent  of  the  frowns  or 
smiles  of  the  world. 

What  I  have  to  ask  you,  then,  is,  shall  I,  for  the  sake  of  a  little 
empty  honour,  forego  the  pleasure  of  this  independence  ?  a  pleasure 
which  would  soothe  me  even  in  the  hour  of  death ;  or  shall  I,  for  the 
sake  of  attaining  this  blessed  independence,  and  the  contentment  and 
dignity  of  mind  which  belong  to  it,  renounce  at  once  the  starving 
honour  which  I  now  possess  ?  You  may  see,  from  the  terms  in  which 
I  state  the  case,  that  my  own  mind  is  in  favour  of  the  latter  renun 
ciation.  Nevertheless,  it  would  give  me  great  satisfaction  that  my 
friends,  too,  approved  of  my  plans. 

The  counsels  of  my  friends  in  Virginia  and  Kentucky,  press  me 
with  fervour  to  the  latter  country.  There  is  an  uncommon  crisis  in 
the  superior  courts  of  that  State,  and  I  am  very  strongly  tempted  to 
take  advantage  of  it.  I  would  go  to  the  bar,  and  bend  all  the  powers 
of  my  soul  and  body  to  the  profession  for  fifteen  years.  In  that  time, 
I  have  no  doubt,  I  should  have  amassed  a  sufficiency  of  wealth,  to 
enable  me  to  retire  into  the  lap  of  my  family,  and  give  up  my  latter 
days  to  ease. 

In  the  course  of  my  business  there,  too,  it  would  be  my  study  so 
to  unite  my  dignity  with  my  interest  as,  in  my  old  age,  to  be  able  to 
lead  my  sons  (if  I  am  blessed  with  sons)  upon  the  theatre  of  life,  so 
as  to  pre-engage  for  them  the  respect  and  confidence  of  the  world, 
that  they  might  never  blush  at  the  mention  of  their  father's  name, 
unless  it  were  a  blush  of  reflected  honour  and  virtuous  emulation. 
These  are  the  scenes  which  dance  before  my  delighted  imagination, 
which  I  believe  by  no  means  chimerical ;  on  the  contrary,  if  I  enjoy 
my  natural  health,  I  have  no  doubt  (from  the  actual  experience  of 
others  in  the  same  State)  of  my  ability  to  realize  them.  Such  is  the 
prospect  on  one  hand.  On  the  other,  it  is  possible  that  I  may,  like 
Mr.  Wythe,  grow  old  in  judicial  honours  and  Roman  poverty.  I 
may  die  beloved,  reverenced  almost  to  canonization  by  my  country, 


94  LETTER  TO   CARR.  [1802—1803. 

and  my  wife  and  children,  as  they  beg  for  bread,  may  have  to  boast 
that  they  were  mine.  Honour  and  glory  are  indeed  among  the 
strongest  attractions,  but  the  most  towering  glory  becomes  dust  in  the 
balance  when  poised  against  the  happiness  of  my  family. 

If  you  think  it  right  that  I  should  resign,  the  questions  which  re 
main  are,  when  shall  I  do  so,  and  in  what  country  shall  I  resume  the 
practice  of  law? 

As  to  this  when  ?  I  am  thirty  years  of  age ;  fifteen  years  more 
will  make  me  forty-five.  In  my  opinion,  a  man  of  forty-five  ought  to 
be  able  to  work  or  play  as  he  pleases.  I  have  no  notion  of  toiling 
on  till  I  am  too  old  or  too  infirm  to  enjoy  even  retirement : — so  that 
I  have  no  time  to  lose. 

As  to  the  where  ?  In  Virginia,  the  most  popular  lawyer  in  the 
State  merely  makes  the  ends  of  the  year  meet, — I  mean  Edmund 
Randolph.  I  have  this  from  the  gentleman  who  keeps  his  books. 
Virginia,  therefore,  is  not  the  country  for  my  purpose.  The  federal 
city  is  not  to  my  taste,  or  interest.  It  would  require  too  much  time 
there  to  take  root.  In  the  soil  of  Kentucky,  every  thing  flourishes 
with  rapidity.  Besides,  I  love  the  ardent  character  of  the  State; 
and,  moreover,  it  is  a  country  calculated  to  give  a  man  his  choice  of 
modes  of  life.  Land  being  cheap  and  fertile,  he  may  farm  it  on  his 
country-seat,  or  dash  away,  when  his  wealth  will  authorise  it,  in  the 
circles  of  the  gay,  or  float  his  commercial  speculations  down  the  Mis 
sissippi.  This  latter  view  of  the  subject  is  meant  to  apply  to  the 
various  views  of  those  to  whom  I  shall,  with  the  blessing  of  heaven, 
give  my  name. 

Pray  let  me  have  your  thoughts  at  large  on  this  subject. 
******* 

Heaven  preserve  you, 

Your  friend, 

WM.  WIRT. 

TO   DABNEY  CARR 

WILLIAMSBURG,  March  20,  1803. 
******* 

You  speak  of  my  removal  to  Kentucky  like  a  friend.  The  sepa 
ration  from  many  who  are  dear  to  me  will  be  painful.  It  is  a  pain 
which  I  seem  to  have  been  destined  to  suffer  more  frequently  than 
almost  any  body  else  equally  fond  of  friends.  From  the  time  I  first 
left  my  native  roof  (at  the  age  of  seven)  I  have  lived  nowhere,  except 
merely  long  enough  to  let  my  affections  take  a  firm  root,  when,  either 
want  or  calamity  has  torn  me  up,  and  wafted  me  into  some  strange 
and  distant  soil.  Eight  or  ten  times  I  have  experienced  this  fate : — 
and  although  a  separation  from  those  whom  I  love  and  who  love  me, 
however  often  repeated,  would  still  be  painful,  I  derive  comfort  from 


CHAP.  VII.]  LETTER  TO    CARR.  95 

the  thought  that  my  stars  have  never  yet  thrown  me  upon  a  soil  too 
cold  or  barren  for  friendship  and  love.  And  besides,  were  I  to  re 
main  here,  I  should  be  almost  as  much  lost  to  you  and  my  other 
beloved  friends  in  Albemarle,  as  if  I  were  on  the  banks  of  the  Ohio, 
I  owe  you,  my  dear  friend,  a  detail  of  the  reasons  which  actuate  me 
in  this  measure,  and  I  render  it  with  pleasure. 

If  I  had  nothing  else  to  consider  but  the  immediate  support  of  my 
family,  I  should  be  obliged  to  resign  my  Chancellorship.  Although 
you  cry  out  "qui  fit  Mecaenas,"  it  is  not  caprice,  but  the  iron  hand 
of  want,  which  impels  me  to  this  resignation.  It  is  true  that  by  re 
jecting  every  social  advance  from  the  inhabitants  here,  which  I  should 
be  obliged  to  do,  since  I  could  not  return  them ;  by  immuring  myself, 
from  day  to  day  and  forever,  within  the  solitary  walls  of  my  own 
house,  my  salary  might  be  sufficient  to  purchase  bread  and  meat,  and 
such  raiment  as  such  a  life  might  require  j  but  these  are  conditions 
which  I  choose  not  to  impose  either  on  others  or  myself.  Another 
consideration,  replete  with  terror,  is  that,  as  my  salary  depends  on 
my  own  life,  my  death  would  throw  my  wife  and  children  on  the 
charity  of  a  cold  and  selfish  world.  All  these  things  considered,  and 
also  that  I  am  now  in  the  prime  of  life,  I  would  ask  whether  it  would 
not  be  mean,  little,  and  worthy  of  eternal  infamy,  to  sit  quietly  down 
against  the  light  of  conscience,  and  see  these  misfortunes  coming  upon 
me,  one  after  another,  in  direful  succession  ?  Would  you  think  a 
man  worthy  of  your  friendship  who  should  be  capable  of  such  dis 
graceful  indolence? 

The  resignation  of  the  Chancellorship  becoming  thus  inevitable,  the 
only  remaining  question  is,  where  shall  I  resume  the  practice  of  my 
profession  ?  The  answer  clearly  is,  in  that  country  where  I  can,  with 
most  certainty,  achieve  the  object  for  which  I  resign.  That  is,  a  sup 
port  for  my  family,  independent  of  the  world  and  of  my  own  life.  You 
understand  me.  This  is  a  question  which  I  have  deliberately  consi 
dered — not  in  the  delirium  of  a  Kentucky  fever,  "  hissing  hot,  Master 
Brooke/'  but  with  all  the  scrupulous,  conscientious  coolness  of  which 
my  mind  is  capable. 

You  ask,  why  quit  the  State  which  has  adopted,  which  has  fostered 
me,  which  has  raised  me  to  its  honours  ?  It  is  the  partiality  of  your 
friendship  which  puts  this  question.  I  am  sure  that  it  is  very  imma- 
to  Virginia  where  I  reside. 


I  throw  this  point  entirely  out  of  the  question,  and  consider  simply 
the  interests  of  my  family  :  to  this  I  am  determined  that  every  feeling 
of  private  attachment  and  prepossession  for  Virginia  shall  bend. 
Knowing,  as  I  have  done  experimentally,  the  agony  to  which  the 
want  of  wealth,  or  at  least  independence,  exposes  any  mind  not  devoid 
of  sensibility,  it  becomes  a  point  of  conscience,  in  the  first  place,  and 


96  RESIGNS  THE  CHANCELLORSHIP.         [1802—1803. 

soon  an  object  of  pleasurable,  of  delightful  pursuit,  to  shelter  those 
who  are  dear  to  me  from  all  danger  of  the  like  torment.  Having 
once  effected  this  purpose,  death,  who  would  be  to  me  now  a  king  of 
terrors  indeed,  would  become  merely  a  master  of  ceremonies  to  intro 
duce  me  into  the  apartments  above. 

You  ask  me  how  many  you  could  name  who  are  now  amassing  at 
the  bar,  in  this  country,  wealth  as  fast  as  their  hearts  can  desire,  or 
quite  fast  enough  ?  I  answer,  I  don't  know  how  many  you  could 

name.     W.,  it  is  true,  made  a  fortune. C.  is  also  making  a 

fortune. With  the  exception  of  these  two,  there  is  not  another 

individual  who  has  hitherto  done  this  at  the  bar  of  these  courts,  or 
who  is  now  in  the  way  of  doing  so.  I  am  not  sure  of  John  Taylor 
of  Caroline.  He,  however,  practised  at  a  most  auspicious  period ; 
such  a  one  as  does  not  now  exist.  Baker,  Innes,  Pendleton,  Wythe, 
Marshall,  Washington  and  others, — what  have  they  made  by  the  pro 
fession  ?  Not  more  than  the  most  ordinary  lawyer  in  Kentucky  is 
able  to  do  in  five  or  six  years. 

•x-  -x-  #•  -K-  #• 

Between  ourselves,  I  was  thirty  years  old  the  eighth  day  of  last 
November.  Have  I  any  time  to  lose  ?  and,  considering  "  the  uncer 
tainty  of  life  and  the  certainty  of  death,"  is  it  not  the  highest  wisdom 
to  improve  every  flying  moment  to  the  best  advantage  ?  Ten  years 
of  life  would  do  but  little  here.  In  Kentucky,  they  might  and  proba 
bly  would  make  my  family  affluent. 

For  the  first  time  in  my  life  (and  with  shame  I  confess  it)  I  look 
forward,  my  dear  Dabney,  with  a  thoughtful  mind,  and  a  heart  aching 
with  uncertainty,  to  the  years  that  lie  before  me.  I  cannot  abide  the 
reflection  that  the  time  shall  ever  come  when  my  conscience  shall  re 
proach  me  with  having  neglected  the  interests  and  happiness  of  my 
family ;  with  having  involved,  by  my  want  of  energy  and  enterprise, 
a  lovely  and  innocent  wife,  with  a  group  of  tender  and  helpless  child 
ren,  in  want  and  misery. 

#  *  x  *  * 

But  Hope,  like  an  angel  of  peace,  whispers  to  my  heart  that  this 
shall  not  be.  She  does,  indeed,  sketch  some  most  brilliant  and  ravish 
ing  scenes  to  my  waking  as  well  as  sleeping  fancy.  Wealth,  fame, 
respect,  the  love  of  my  fellow-citizens,  she  designs  with  the  boldness 
and  grandeur  of  an  Angelo,  while,  with  all  the  softness  and  sweetness 
of  Titian's  pencil,  she  draws  my  wife  and  a  circle  of  blooming,  beau 
teous  and  smiling  cherubs,  happy  as  innocence  and  peace  and  plenty 
can  make  them. 

#  #  *  *  * 

Your  friend, 

WM.  WIRT. 


CHAP.  VII.]  A  SPECULATION.  97 

The  Chancellorship  was  resigned  in  May,  1803,  and  the  project  of 
vshe  emigration  to  Kentucky  abandoned.  Wirt  now  determined  to 
lake  up  his  abode  in  Norfolk,  in  accordance  with  Mr.  Tazeweirs 
vdvice,  although,  for  the  present,  he  still  resided  in  Williamsburg. 


TO  DABNEY  CARR. 

RICHMOND,  June  6,  1803. 

******* 

Well,  sir,  you  have  heard  that  I  have  disrobed  myself  of  the 
Chancellor's  furs,  and  I  feel  much  the  cooler  and  lighter  for  it.  Not 
but  that  there  was  some  awkwardness  in  coming  down  to  conflict  with 
men,  to  whom,  a  few  days  before,  my  dictum  was  the  law.  The 
pride  was  a  false  one,  and  I  revenged  myself  on  it.  I  feel  little 
triumph  in  being  thus  able  to  get  out  of  myself,  to  survey,  from  an 
intellectual  distance,  the  workings  of  my  own  heart,  to  discern  and 
to  chastise  its  errors. 

The  man  who  can  thus  make  an  impartial  and  candid  friend  of 
himself,  has  gained  a  great  point  in  the  reformation  and  perfection 
of  his  character. 

Thus  it  is  that  a  man  balances  the  account  of  his  feelings;  morti 
fication  presents  her  charge,  and  vanity  raises  a  countervailing  item. 

You  are  aware  that  I  am  already  done  with  the  Kentucky  project. 
I  heard,  very  lately,  that  there  was  no  cash  in  that  state }  that  fees 
were  paid  in  horses,  cows  and  sheep,  and  that  the  eminence  of  their 
lawyers  was  estimated  by  the  size  of  their  drove,  on  their  return  from 
their  circuits :  while,  on  the  other  hand,  I  was  drawn  to  Norfolk  by 
the  attractions  of  her  bank. 

The  single  experiment  which  I  have  made,  justifies  this  latter 
move.  I  have  been  to  one  District  Court,  at  the  town  of  Suffolk, 
received  cash  two  hundred  and  eleven  dollars,  and  received  other 
business,  from  substantial  merchants,  making  the  whole  amount  of  the 
trip  five  hundred  and  twenty-eight  dollars,  which  I  consider  as  no  ill 
omen  of  my  future  success.  In  one  word,  I  am  assured,  and  I  have 
every  reason  to  believe  it,  that  my  annual  income  will  be  twelve 
hundred  pounds,  on  one-half  of  which  I  can  maintain  my  family,  even 
were  it  much  larger  than  it  is.  Two  or  three  years'  practice  will  put 
me  in  the  possession  of  cash  which,  in  such  a  place  as  Norfolk,  I  shall 
be  able  to  turn  over  to  the  greatest  advantage ;  and,  all  things  con 
sidered,  I  do  not  think  the  hope  extravagant,  that  by  the  time  I  am 
forty,  or,  at  farthest,  forty-five,  I  shall  be  able  to  retire  from  the  bar, 
in  ease  and  independence,  and  spend  the  remainder  of  my  life  in  the 
bosom  of  my  family,  and  in  whatever  part  of  the  country  I  please, — 

VOL.  I.— 9  a 


98  PROFESSIONAL  SUCCESS.  [1803. 

BO  that  I  think  it  not  improbable  I  shall,  at  last,  lay  my  bones  near 
you,  in  the  county  of  Albemarle. 

******* 

I  leave  this  place  to-morrow. 

Adieu,  my  dear  friend, 

WM.  WIRT, 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

1803. 

COMMENCES   PRACTICE    IN    NORFOLK. — PROFESSIONAL    SUCCESS. — 

LETTER  TO  POPE. COMMENTS   ON  THE  PARSIMONY  OF  JUDICIAL 

SALARIES. BIRTH  OF  HIS  ELDEST  CHILD. RELIGIOUS  SENTI 
MENTS. TRIAL  OF  SHANNON. SINGULAR  CASE  OF  CIRCUM 
STANTIAL  EVIDENCE. — REMOVES  HIS  RESIDENCE  TO  NORFOLK. 

AFTER  the  resignation  of  the  Chancellorship,  Wirt  repaired  to 
Norfolk  to  recommence  the  practice  of  the  law  in  that  borough.  His 
family  residence,  however,  was  still  kept  up  at  Williamsbuig,  and 
was  not  changed  until  the  ensuing  winter. 

His  reputation,  increased  by  his  late  official  position,  now  began  to 
bring  in  to  him  a  full  harvest  of  professional  fruits.  He  found  him 
self  at  once  inducted  into  what,  at  that  day,  was  termed  a  large 
practice,  and  it  was  manifest  that  he  was  rising  rapidly  to  a  com 
manding  eminence  at  the  Virginia  bar. 

Amongst  the  letters  of  this  period  I  find  one  which  dwells,  some 
what  in  detail,  upon  his  progress  in  his  profession,  and  contains  some 
strictures  upon  the  policy  of  the  State  Government  in  reference  to 
judicial  salaries.  These  strictures  have  not  lost  their  point  at  the 
present  day,  and  may  be  read  with  profit  in  other  sections  of  the 
United  States  than  Virginia. 

This  letter  is  written  to  one  of  the  first  and  best  of  Wirt's  friends 
in  that  state.  The  name  of  William  Pope  will  frequently  occur  in 
these  pages  connected  with  a  familiar  and  playful  correspondence. 
This  gentleman,  now  an  octogenarian,  still  survives  to  attract  the  re 
gard  of  a  large  circle  of  friends,  whose  most  cherished  recollect?  op.  of 


CHAP.  VIII.]  LETTER  TO    POPE.  99 

him  invariably  associates  him  with  the  memory  of  the  subject  of  these 
memoirs. 

He  resided,  at  the  date  of  this  correspondence,  as  he  does  at  the 
present  time,  (1848,)  at  Montpelier,  his  family  seat  in  Powhatan — a 
central  point  between  Richmond  and  Albemarle,  somewhat  famous 
of  old  for  the  good-fellowship  attracted  by  its  worthy  proprietor. 


TO  WILLIAM   POPE. 

RICHMOND,  August  5,  1803. 


My  DEAR  SIR  : 


It  gives  me  pleasure  to  find  that  my  resignation  is  not  disapproved 
by  my  friends.  To  me,  the  measure  was  indispensably  necessary. 
The  present  subsistence  and  future  provision  of  my  family  depended 
on  it.  I  only  wish  that  it  may  lead  the  way  to  some  resignation 
whose  inconvenience  the  State  would  sensibly  feel.  Such  an  event 
would  bring  our  fellow-citizens  to  their  senses  on  the  subject  of  sala 
ries.  To  be  sure,  in  a  republic,  public  economy  is  an  important 
thing;  but  public  justice  is  still  more  important;  and  there  is  cer 
tainly  very  little  justice  in  expecting  the  labour  and  waste  of  a  citizen's 
life  for  one-third  of  the  emoluments  which  he  could  derive  from  de 
voting  himself  to  the  service  of  individuals.  Most  surely  there  is  no 
ground  on  which  such  a  sacrifice  could  be  justly  expected,  except,  in 
deed,  on  the  ground  of  public  necessity.  If  Virginia  were  too  poor 
to  pay  her  officers,  it  would  then  become  patriotic,  indeed  it  would 
become  a  duty,  to  make  this  sacrifice  to  the  country's  good.  But  as 
it  is  merely  the  will  and  not  the  power  that  is  wanting,  it  is  out  of 
the  question  to  expect  that  a  man  should  make  a  burnt-offering  of 
himself,  his  wife  and  his  children,  on  the  altar  of  public  avarice  or 
public  whim.  It  is  really  humiliating  to  think,  that  although  these 
plain  truths  will  be  acknowledged  by  any  member  of  the  Legislature 
to  whom  you  address  them  in  private,  yet  there  is  scarcely  one  man 
in  the  House  bold  enough  to  vote  his  sentiments  on  the  subject,  after 
a  call  of  the  yeas  and  nays  : — he  will  not  dare  to  jeopard  his  re-election 
by  such  a  vote.  Where  is  the  difference  between  an  Assembly,  thus 
unduly  influenced,  and  the  National  Assembly  of  France,  held  in 
duress  and  impelled  by  the  lawless  shouts  of  a  Jacobinic  gallery? 
Would  a  Cato  or  a  Brutus,  in  the  Roman  Senate,  even  have  sup 
pressed,  much  less  belied,  his  real  sentiment  from  a  fear  of  public 
censure  ?  Or  is  public  virtue  a  different  thing  now  from  what  it  was 
in  their  time.  But  the  best  of  human  institutions  have  their  de 
fects, — and  this  is  one  of  those  which  cleave  to  the  glorious  scheme 
of  elective  government.  In  all  cases,  whatever  may  be  his  own 
opinion,  the  representative  seems  to  think  himself  a  mere  mirror  to 
reflect  the  will  of  his  constituents,  with  all  its  flaws,  obliquities  and 


100  JUDICIAL  SALARIES.  [1803. 

distortions.  Even  when  he  knows  that  it  will  injure  the  country,  he 
will  but  echo  the  popular  voice,  with  the  single  motive  of  retaining 
his  ill-deserved  office  rather  than  offend  the  people  by  honest  service. 
This  brings  to  my  recollection  that  Roman  Consul  who  was  sent  to 
oppose  Hannibal.  He  was  pressing  the  Carthaginian  sorely,  when 
his  enemies  at  Rome,  envious  of  the  glory  which  he  was  about  to 
gain,  procured  a  peremptory  mandate  by  which  he  was  required  im 
mediately  to  lay  down  his  commission  and  appear  at  Rome  to  answer 
a  criminal  impeachment.  But  he  saw  that  a  few  days  more  of  service 
would  deliver  his  country  from  the  invader,  and  therefore,  neither 
indignant  at  his  country's  ingratitude,  nor  appalled  by  her  menaces, 
he  dared  to  disobey.  Hannibal  was  vanquished, — Rome  was  saved, 
and  a  triumph  was  decreed  to  the  disobedient  victor.  What  member 
of  our  Assembly  is  like  this  consul? 

I  am  very  much  obliged,  by  the  friendly  apprehensions  which  you 
express  for  my  health,  on  account  of  the  climate  of  Norfolk.  But  I 
believe  that  Norfolk  is  not  at  all  dangerous,  except  in  the  latter  end 
of  August,  September,  and  the  beginning  of  October;  and  during 
these  months,  I  shall  be  able  to  leave  the  place  without  any  material 
injury  to  my  revenue.  The  prospect  which  it  holds  out  to  me,  is 
nattering  in  the  highest  degree.  I  am  already  engaged  in  very  pro 
ductive  business  in  five  courts ;  so  that  you  will  perceive  my  plan  is 
now  too  broad  to  admit  of  the  enlargement  which  you  so  kindly  pro 
pose  to  me.  I  am  very  sanguine  that,  with  the  blessing  of  Provi 
dence,  I  shall  be  able  to  retire  from  business  in  ten  or  fifteen  years, 
with  such  a  fortune  as  will  place  my  family,  at  least,  above  want. 
•*  #•  •*  -x-  •*  -x- 

And  how  do  you  prosper,  my  good  friend  ?  Does  fortune  flow  in 
upon  you  in  a  golden  deluge?  I  hope  it  does.  Good  men  only 
deserve  to  be  rich,  because  they  only  are  disposed  to  employ  their 
wealth  for  the  good  of  the  world.  But  things  in  general  take  a  dif 
ferent  turn,  and  none  grow  rich  but  the  selfish  and  the  sordid.  Our 

friend  B ,  however,  is  an  illustrious  exception  to  this  remark. 

A  more  feeling,  a  more  benevolent,  a  more  philanthropic  heart  never 
palpitated  in  the  bosom  of  a  man.  I  love  him  because  he  makes  no 
parade  of  his  sympathies.  He  is  good,  and  kind,  and  tender  in 
secret;  and  he  is  satisfied  with  the  silent,  yet  genial  approbation  of 
his  own  heart.  But,  because  he  is  not  a  scribe  or  pharisee,  to  stand 
in  the  market  and  crossways  to  render  ostentatious  charities,  and 
because  he  still  thrives  and  prospers,  the  malignant  world  has  slan 
dered  him  as  selfish  and  miserly. 

#  #  #  *  * 

I  beg  you  to  give  my  sincere  and  fervent  love  to  him.     Remember 

me,  also,  if  you  please,  to  that  excelleut  little  fellow,  Q ',  and 

believe  me,  dear  Pope, 

Your  friend, 

WM.  WIRT. 


CHAP.  VIII.]  KKL1GIOUS   rfENTLMKNTS.  101 

On  the  3d  of  September,  within  a  few  weeks  after  the  date  of  this 
letter,  Wirt's  eldest  child,  Laura  Henrietta,  was  born. 

This  event  awakened  his  feelings  to  new  resolves  in  the  way  of 
duty,  and,  what  is  worthy  of  note,  to  a  more  full  and  open  recogni 
tion  of  those  sentiments  of  religious  faith  to  which  I  have  heretofore 
adverted,  and  in  the  gradual  development  of  which,  throughout  the 
progress  of  his  life,  we  shall  see  a  natural  and  agreeable  illustration 
of  the  tendencies  of  a  highly  intellectual  mind  to  seek  for  its  security 
and  content  in  the  sacred  wisdom  of  Christianity. 

We  have  a  strong  evidence  of  this  conviction  in  a  letter  to  Mrs. 
Wirt,  written  to  her  in  Richmond,  whilst  her  husband  was  employed 
in  the  duties  of  his  profession  at  Williamsburg.  In  submitting  a  few 
extracts  from  this  letter,  I  must  express  the  reserve  I  feel  against 
the  violation  of  those  confidences  which  belong  to  a  relation  that,  of 
all  others,  is  least  suited  to  the  exposure  of  its  secrets  to  the  world. 
The  free  utterances  of  the  heart,  in  such  a  relation,  may  very  rarely 
and  scantily  afford  a  theme  for  public  comment,  even  with  the  most 
delicate  caution  in  the  disclosure.  To  bring  them  within  the  confines 
of  what  is  due  to  the  proper  office  of  biography,  much  must  necessa 
rily  be  omitted;  and,  in  regard  to  that  which  is  given,  the  reader  will 
receive  it  with  the  allowance  which  may  justly  be  claimed  for  commu 
nications  which  were  never  designed  for  perusal  beyond  the  family 
hearth,  or  to  encounter  a  remark  that  was  not  suggested  by  the  near 
est  and  most  affectionate  sympathy  with  the  writer. 

I  may  hereafter  have  many  extracts  to  make  from  this  portion  of 
Wirt's  correspondence,  and  I  therefore  announce,  in  advance,  the  con 
sideration  which  shall  induce  me  to  withhold  much  more  than  I  sub 
mit,  and  which  I  hope  will  equally  relieve  me  from  the  imputation  of 
improperly  invading  the  sanctuary  of  private  affection,  and  what  I  may 
offer  from  the  criticism  of  fastidious  readers. 

On  the  present  occasion  he  writes : 

*  "  Your  reason  will  forbid  you  to  lament  my 

absence  too  deeply,  when  you  reflect  what  it  is  has  carried  me  away. 
It  is  not  misfortune ;  but,  strong  in  health,  flushed  wi£h  hope,  and" 
animated  by  the  consciousness  that  I  am  in  the  discharge  of  my  duty, 
I  go  to  prepare  more  prosperous  days.       *  *      This 

is  the  reflection  which,  with  the  smile  of  Heaven,  shall  not  only  sup- 
9* 


102  RELIGIOUS  SENTIMENTS.  [1803. 

port  me  through  fatigue,  but  sweeten  all  the  toils  of  my  profession. 
How  rugged  would  the  path  even  of  duty  appear ;  how  fruitless,  how 
solitary,  how  disconsolate  would  even  prosperity  be,  if  I  alone  were  to 
taste  it !  It  is  the  thought  that  my  wife  and  children  are  to  share  it 
with  me —  *  These  are  the  fond  ideas  which  pos 

sess  my  soul ;  which  never  fail  to  smooth  my  brow  in  the  midst  of 
tumult,  to  speak  peace  to  my  heart,  and  to  scatter  roses  over  my  path 
of  life. 

*  -x-  *  *  *  #• 

{i  How  much  do  I  owe  you !  Not  only  the  creation  of  my  hopes 
of  happiness  on  earth,  but  the  restoration  of  my  hopes  of  happiness  in 
a  better  world.  *  *  *  I  must  confess  that  the  natural 
gaiety  of  my  character,  rendered  still  more  reckless  by  the  dissipation 
into  which  I  had  been  allured,  had  sealed  my  eyes,  and  hidden  from 
me  the  rich  inheritance  of  the  righteous.  It  was  you,  whose  example 
and  tender  exhortations  rescued  me  from  the  horrors  .of  confirmed 
guilt,  and  taught  me  once  more  to  raise  my  suppliant  mind  to  God. 
The  more  I  reflect  on  it,  the  more  highly  do  I  prize  this  obligation. 
I  am  convinced,  thoroughly  and  permanently  convinced,  that  the  very 
highest  earthly  success,  the  crowning  of  every  wish  of  the  heart,  would 
still  leave  even  the  earthly  happiness  of  man  incomplete.  The  soul 
has  more  enlarged  demands,  which  nothing  but  a  communion  with 
Heaven  can  satisfy.  The  soul  requires  a  broader  and  more  solid  basis, 
a  stronger  anchor,  a  safer  port  in  which  to  moor  her  happiness,  than 
can  be  found  on  the  surface  of  this  world. 

******* 
"  Remembering  how  often  Heaven  snatches  away  our  idols,  to  show 
us  the  futility  of  sublunary  enjoyments,  and  to  point  our  thoughts  and 
affections  to  a  better  world,  I  pray  that  its  kindness  would  so  attemper 
my  love  for  my  wife  and  her  child,  as  not  to  destroy  the  reflection, 
that  for  them,  as  well  as  every  other  blessing,  I  depend  on  the  unme 
rited  beneficence  of  my  God ;  and  never  to  permit  my  love  for  them 
to  destroy  my  gratitude,  my  humble  dependence  on  the  Father  of  the 
Universe,  whose  power  is  equalled  by  his  parental  kindness  and 
mercy. 

"  How  should  I  be  laughed  at  if  this  letter  were  read  by  those  who 
were  once  my  wild  companions !     How  should  I  be  envied  if  they 


CHAP.  VIII.]  TRIAL  OF  SHANNON.  103 

knew  the  sweet  feelings  with  which  I  have  poured  out  these  reflec 
tions,  warm  from  my  heart  I" 

Constitutionally  gay  and  light-hearted  as  the  author  of  this  letter 
always  was,  even  to  the  latter  days  of  his  life,  and  noted  in  youth  for 
what  might  almost  be  deemed  the  excess  of  this  temperament,  these 
evidences  of  his  graver  thoughts  and  feelings  cast  a  mellow  tint  over 
his  character,  and  furnish  an  early  presage  of  the  predominating  hue 
which  distinguished  it  in  the  evening  of  his  career. 

He  was,  about  this  time,  concerned  in  the  trial  of  a  cause  in  "Wil- 
liamsburg,  together  with  his  friend  Tazewell  and  Mr.  Semple,  (a  gen 
tleman  who  was  afterwards  promoted  to  the  bench,)  as  counsel  for  a 
man  by  the  name  of  Shannon.  This  case  is  only  remarkable  as  a 
curious  instance,  both  of  the  conclusiveness  of  circumstantial  evidence, 
and  the  uncertainty  of  the  verdict  of  a  jury,  when  perplexed  by  the 
eloquence  of  adroit  counsel. 

Shannon  was  arraigned  for  the  murder  of  his  father-in-law,  who  had 
been  shot  at  night,  in  his  own  house,  through  the  window.  No  motive 
was  known  to  exist  for  the  deed ;  the  murderer  was  unknown ;  and 
the  circumstances  of  the  case  almost  defied  investigation.  The  death 
was  produced  by  buckshot.  The  morning  after  the  murder,  whilst 
the  neighbours,  and  such  others  as  the  rumour  of  the  deed  had  brought 
together,  were  examining  the  premises,  to  find  some  clue  to  the  disco 
very  of  the  assassin,  and  had  come  almost  to  the  point  of  abandoning 
the  inquiry  as  hopeless,  one  amongst  them,  a  man  somewhat  noted  for 
his  shrewdness  in  curious  investigation,  placed  himself  in  what  he 
concluded  must  have  been  the  post  occupied  by  the  murderer  when 
the  shot  was  fired ;  then,  examining  along  the  line  of  the  direction  of 
the  fire,  he  discovered  a  small  piece  of  letter-paper,  which  manifestly, 
from  the  mark  of  powder  and  fire  upon  it,  must  have  been  part  of  the 
wadding  of  the  gun.  This  paper  had  a  single  letter,  m,  written  upon 
it,  and  torn  from  the  word  to  which  it  belonged.  About  the  moment 
when  this  discovery  was  made,  some  one  remarked  that  Shannon,  the 
son-in-law,  had  not  been  present  that  morning.  His  absence  on  such 
an  occasion  was  thought  strange ;  and,  forthwith,  a  general  inquiry 
was  made  after  him.  With  no  stronger  ground  for  suspicion  than 
this  fact,  a  search  was  immediately  made  to  ascertain  where  he  was. 
He  dwelt  on  the  opposite  side  of  James  River,  some  seven  or  eight 


104  CIRCUMSTANTIAL  EVIDENCE.  [1803. 

miles  distant;  but  it  was  proved  that  he  had  been  in  Williamsburg 
the  day  before,  with  a  gun  which  was  without  a  lock.  A  blacksmith, 
who  gave  this  testimony,  stated,  moreover,  that  Shannon  had  brought 
the  gun  to  him  to  be  repaired,  and  he  not  being  able  to  repair  it  that- 
day,  it  was  taken  away  in  the  condition  in  which  it  was  brought.  A 
party  now  set  out  for  Shannon's  house.  He  was  not  there  :  he  had 
not  been  thqre  during  the  night.  They  pursued  their  quest,  and  found 
him  at  last,  thirty  miles  off,  in  a  tavern,  asleep,  with  his  clothes  on. 
Upon  being  arrested  and  examined,  a  few  buckshot  were  found  in  his 
pocket,  and  a  letter  with  one  corner  torn  off,  to  which  the  fragment 
picked  up  at  the  house  of  the  deceased  was  applied,  and  found  to  fit, 
coupling  the  letter  m  with  y,  and  showing  its  proper  relation  in  a 
written  sentence.  These  facts,  it  seems,  were  not  strong  enough  to 
persuade  the  jury  of  the  guilt  of  the  prisoner.  One  of  the  twelve, 
more  scrupulous  than  the  rest,  or,  we  may  infer,  more  susceptible  to 
the  influences  of  the  specious  eloquence  of  counsel,  who  were,  doubt 
less,  very  ingenious,  as  the  phrase  is,  in  the  defence  of  the  suspected 
culprit,  "  hung  out/'  and,  as  a  consequence,  starved  out  his  compeers, 
and  so  brought  them  to  the  confession  that  they  could  not  agree ;  and 
they  were  accordingly  discharged,  and  Shannon  was  allowed  to  go 
forth  unmolested,  to  claim  the  benefit  of  his  successful  speculation. 

Wirt  appears  to  have  excited  great  expectations  as  the  counsel  in 
this  case.  The  court-house  at  "Williamsburg  was  thronged  with 
visitors, — a  large  number  of  ladies  amongst  the  rest, — and  his  speech 
in  the  case  is  remembered  as  one  of  the  best  of  his  early  displays  at 
the  bar. 

In  a  letter  to  his  wife,  written  when  this  trial  was  about  to  come 
on,  29th  Sept.  1803,  there  is  the  following  reference  to  it : 

"  Only  one  Judge  to-day — Winston.     Parker  is  expected  to-night. 
#  *  *  *  *  * 

"  The  gallery  was  full  of  ladies,  expecting  to  hear  (as  C.  tells  me) 

Mr.  W defend  Shannon.  — i  Vain  creature !'  say  you.  —  Vain 

enough ;  but  not  on  this  account.  The  man  who  knows  and  feels 
his  own  foibles,  and  can  draw  off  from  himself  so  far  as  to  make  a 
proper  estimate  of  his  own  imperfections,  will  not  be  hurt  by  the  flat 
teries  of  others. 

****** 


CHAP.  IX.]  REMOVES  TO  NORFOLK.  105 

"  What  do  you  think  of  Shannon's  gallantry?  Although  in  irons 
and  chained  to  the  wall  and  floor,  he  has  made  a  conquest  of  the 
gaoler's  wife,  and  she  has  declared  her  resolution  to  petition  for  a 
divorce  from  her  husband,  and  follow  Shannon,  if  he  is  acquitted,  to 

the  end  of  the  world." 

****** 

In  the  month  of  December,  Wirt  took  a  house  in  Norfolk,  and  by 
the  commencement  of  the  new  year,  1804,  he  removed  his  family 
thither,  to  make  it,  for  the  future,  his  permanent  abode. 


CHAPTER   IX. 

1803  —  1804. 

THE  BRITISH  SPY.  —  ENEMIES  MADE  BY  IT.  —  LETTERS  TO  CARR, 
WITH  SOME  ANECDOTES  CONNECTED  WITH  THE  PUBLICATION  OP 
THE  SPY. — HIS  OPINION  OF  THAT  WORK. 

WIRT  now  appears  in  the  character  of  an  author.  During  the 
month  of  August,  1803,  he  commenced  the  letters  of  The  British 
Spy.  They  were  published  in  September  and  October,  in  "The 
Argus/'  at  Richmond. 

The  popularity  of  The  British  Spy,  had  scarcely  a  parallel  in  any 
work,  in  the  same  department  of  letters,  which  had,  at  that  date,  been 
contributed  to  American  literature.  It  may  be  regarded  as  having 
conferred  upon  its  author  a  distinct  and  prominent  literary  repu 
tation. 

The  reader  of  these  letters,  at  this  day,  will  express  his  surprise 
that  the  public  judgment  should  have  given  such  weight  to  a  produc 
tion  so  unlaboured,  and  so  desultory.  He  will  not  fail  to  perceive,  it 
is  true,  in  these  essays,  an  agreeable  foretaste  of  high  literary  accom 
plishment  ;  but  he  will  regard  this  rather  as  the  earnest  of  a  talent  to 
achieve  a  distinction  in  letters,  than  the  achievement  itself;  and  he 
will  find  occasion,  in  the  singular  success  of  this  little  book,  to  re 
mark  how  eagerly  the  taste  of  this  country  was  disposed,  at  that 
period,  to  welcome  any  clever  effort  to  contribute  even  the  lightest 


10G  TFIE  BRITISH  SPY.  [1803—1804. 

donation  towards  the  increase  of  our  small  stock  of  n:t{i"nal  author 
ship. 

These  letters  are  written  in  a  polished  and  elegant  style,  exhibit 
ing,  very  notably,  a  most  accurate  study  and  appreciation  of  the  best 
standards  of  English  literature.  They  deal  with  such  topics  of  super 
ficial  observation  as  a  casual  residence  in  Virginia,  and  particularly  at 
Richmond,  might  be  supposed  to  supply  to  an  educated  foreigner. 
The  distinctive  traits  of  Virginia  society,  manners,  opinions  and  popu 
lar  institutions,  are  glanced  at  with  a  happy  facility  of  observation; 
some  geological  questions  are  discussed  with  an  acuteness  of  remark 
and  fullness  of  information  which  demonstrate  that  the  science  to 
which  they  refer  was  a  favourite  study  of  the  author.  But  the  chief 
topic,  and  one  which,  it  is  evident,  furnished  the  predominant  motive 
to  the  writing  of  the  letters,  is  that  which  leads  him  to  a  dissertation 
upon  modern  eloquence,  and  the  illustration  of  it  by  a  picture  of  some 
of  the  leading  lawyers  of  Virginia.  To  this  theme  he  had  obviously 
given  a  careful  study,  and  sought  to  embody  its  conclusions  in  these 
letters.  He  performs  this  duty  with  the  love  of  a  student  expatia 
ting  on  his  chosen  pursuit.  The  British  Spy  may,  in  this  respect,  be 
considered  as  the  treatise  "De  Oratore"  of  one  who  was  no  small 
proficient  in  the  art,  and,  in  that  light,  may  be  read  with  profit  by 
every  aspirant  to  the  honours  of  the  public  speaker.  He  who  does 
read  it  will  regret  that  a  master  who  could  so  happily  instruct,  has 
not,  at  greater  leisure,  with  larger  scope  and  at  a  maturer  period  of 
his  life,  given  to  the  world  a  volume  on  this  topic  enriched  by  his  own 
varied  experience  and  profound  philosophy. 

The  success  of  these  letters  astonished  no  one  more  than  their 
author.  They  were  written  rapidly,  and  committed,  almost  as  soon  as 
written,  to  the  columns  of  a  newspaper,  where  they  appeared  with 
every  blemish  and  imperfection  to  which  such  a  medium  of  publica 
tion  was  liable.  Although  a  studied  concealment  of  the  authorship 
was  preserved,  during  the  period  of  publication  and  for  some  time 
afterwards,  this  did  not  protect  the  writer  either  from  vehement  sus 
picion  at  first,  nor  from  the  final  determination  of  the  paternity  of  the 
book  by  the  community. 

In  some  of  the  portraits  which  the  author  drew  of  his  contempo 
raries  at  the  bar,  he  is  said  to  have  given  offence,  and  to  have  brought 


CHAP.  IX.]  ENEMIES  MADE  BY  IT.  107 

upon  himself  threats  of  reprisal.  At  the  present  time,  so  remote 
from  that  which  witnessed  these  agitations,  we  marvel  that  comments, 
so  little  derogatory  to  the  personal  excellence  of  the  subjects  of  them 
—  which,  in  fact,  rather  infer  and  sustain  their  reputation,  as  men 
sufficiently  prominent  to  form  examples  and  studies  —  that  these 
should  have  embittered  any  one  against  their  author.  It  is,  never 
theless,  true,  as  we  shall  see  in  some  of  the  correspondence  of  this 
period,  that  the  author  did  not  escape  without  making  enemies  by  his 
book. 

It  is  pleasant  to  know,  however,  that  these  enmities  were  not  long- 
lived,  and  that  some  of  the  most  intimate  friends  and  associates  of 
Mr.  Wirt's  subsequent  days  were  those  with  whom  he  was  supposed 
to  have  too  freely  dealt  in  the  letters. 

The  asperities  which  arose  out  of  this  publication  did  not  check  the 
author  in  the  career  of  his  humour,  nor  disturb  his  equanimity.  Nor 
did  they  disable  him  from  his  defence,  as  ,may  be  seen  from  the 
perusal  of  the  volume. 

Extensive  as  was  the  popularity  of  this  small  work  at  the  time  of 
its  first  appearance,  it  is  but  little  read  at  the  present  day.  Forty 
years  bring  a  severe  test  to  the  quality  of  any  book.  They  are 
generally  fatal  to  the  million  of  light  literature.  There  was  a  time 
when  few  libraries  in  this  country  were  unsupplied  with  a  copy  of  the 
British  Spy.  It  is  not  so  now.  The  overteeming  press  pours  forth 
its  stream  with  such  torrent-like  rapidity  and  fulness,  that  the  current 
has  well-nigh  swept  away  the  light  craft  of  the  last  generation — even 
such  as  were  supposed  to  be  most  securely  moored.  We  must  look 
for  them  now  only  in  those  nooks  and  occasional  havens  where  the 
fortunate  eddy  has  given  them  shelter  against  the  pressure  of  the 
flood.  The  British  Spy  is  still  worthy  to  be  refitted  and  thrown  oncce 
more  upon  the  wave. 

The  two  following  letters  to  Carr  furnish  some  pleasant  anecdotes 
connected  with  the  production  of  this  little  book.  In  the  second  of 
the  two,  the  reader  will  mark  some  new  aspirations  towards  literary 
enterprise,  agreeably  mixed  up  with  some  details  of  professional  occu 
pation,  and  with  a  grave  dissertation  upon  a  subject  of  growing  im 
portance  in  the  mind  of  the  writer. 


108  LETTER  TO  CARR.  [1803—1804. 

TO   DABNEY  CARR. 

NORFOLK,  January  16,  1804. 
MY  DEAR  AMINADAB  : 

Yours,  of  the  31st  ult.,  reached  me  by  the  last  mail.  I  am 
rejoiced  that  this  silence  is  at  last  broken.  I  was  several  times  on 
the  point  of  breaking  it  myself,  although,  as  you  acknowledge,  you 
were  a  letter  in  my  debt;  but  some  perverse  circumstance  always 
thwarted  the  intention.  Indeed,  like  Martha,  I  have  been  busy 
about  many  things;  though  I  hope  that,  like  Mary,  I  have  chosen 
the  better  part. 

This  is  Sunday,  so  you  must  allow  me  to  be  a  little  scriptural. 
But  waving  with  you  the  why  and  the  wherefore,  I  rejoice  at  this 
resurrection  of  our  correspondence,  and  I  trust  that  no  wintry  circum 
stance  will  ever  again  occur  to  suspend  its  pulse  of  life  even  for  a 
moment.  Mark,  sir,  how  metaphorical  I  am !  But,  in  plain  and 
sober  earnest,  I  look  to  you  as  one  of  those  few  well-tried  and  dearly- 
beloved  friends  who  will  often  relax  my  "  brow  of  care/'  and  checker, 
with  soft  and  genial  light,  the  dusky  path  of  life.  I  look  forward, 
with  a  kind  of  plaintive  pleasure,  to  the  period  when,  after  my  bones 
are  in  the  grave,  my  children,  in  turning  over  my  old  letters,  will 
meet  with  yours  and  my  dear  Peachy 's,*  and,  with  eyes  swimming 
with  tears,  hang  over  your  warm  and  affecting  expressions  of  love  and 
friendship.  It  is  this  that  touches  my  heart ;  it  is  this  pathetic  pros 
pect,,  connected  with  the  present  enjoyment  of  your  intercourse,  that 
fortifies  me  against  the  chances  of  the  world,  and  new  strings  my 
system  for  the  labours  of  my  profession.  But  for  the  domestic  joys 
which  encircle  me,  and  the  conviction  that  I  have  a  few  valuable 
friends  by  whom  I  am  known  and  beloved,  I  should  be  the  poorest 
wretch  for  business  that  ever  groaned  upon  the  earth.  How  can  men 
toil  as  I  see  them  doing  here ;  business  in  their  heads,  business  in 
their  hearts,  business  forever  in  their  faces,  without  one  palpitation 
to  tell  them  what  love  and  friendship  mean  ?  Not,  my  dearest  sir, 
that  I  would  turn  my  back  on  any  business,  however  herculean,  but 
I  must  unbend  and  refresh  whenever  the  voice  of  pure  affection  calls 
me.  Often,  my  dear  Dabney,  may  yours  call  me  !  You  will  find  my 
heart  ever  ready  to  echo  you. — But  to  answer  you,  in  order. 

I  come,  in  order,  to  a  certain  author  y'clept  the  British  Spy.  I 
shall  not  be  either  so  unfriendly  or  so  childishly  affected  as  to  deny 
the  brat  to  be  my  own.  To  the  world,  however,  I  do  not  choose  to 
make  any  such  proclamation,  for  divers  obvious  reasons.  Indeed,  I 
gain  nothing  by  this  silence.  The  thing  is  as  generally  and  confi 
dently  imputed  to  me,  as  if  my  name  were  in  the  title-page.  For 

*Mr.  Peachy  Gilmer,  an  elder  brother  of  Francis  Walker. 


CHAP.  IX.]  ANECDOTES  OF   THE  SPY.  109 

you  axe  to  understand  that,  very  far  beyond  my  expectations,  the 
printer  has  found  it  his  interest,  not  only  to  bind  it  up  in  a  pamphlet, 
but  to  issue  a  second  edition.  It  is  meet  that  I  give  you  some 
account  of  the  rise  and  progress  of  this  affair. 

I  was  in  Richmond,  attending  on  a  business  with  whose  painful 
anxieties  experience  has  made  you  acquainted.  It  was  to  divert  my 
own  mind,  during  this  period  of  uneasiness  and  alarm,  that  I  began 
to  write.  But  after  the  project  was  thus  started,  I  will  acknowledge 
to  you,  my  friend,  that  there  were  secondary  considerations  which 
supported  and  warmed  me  throughout  the  enterprise.  I  was  gratified 
by  the  encomiums  which  were  generally  pronounced  on  the  composi 
tion,  and  I  was  still  more  delicately  gratified  in  observing  the  pleasure 
with  which  my  wife  heard  those  encomiums.  I  was  nattered  by  the 
circumstance  that,  while  the  world  applauded,  it  concurred  in  imputing 
the  production  to  me ;  and  this  without  any  other  evidence  than  that 
of  the  work  itself.  For  the  imputation  proved,  at  least,  that  the  world 
had  not  a  disadvantageous  opinion  of  my  understanding.  I  adopted 
the  character  of  a  British  Spy,  because  I  thought  that  such  a  title,  in 
a  republican  paper,  would  excite  more  attention,  curiosity,  and  inte 
rest  than  any  other :  and  having  adopted  thaf  character,  as  an  author 
I  was  bound  to  support  it.  I  endeavoured  to  forget  myself;  to  fancy 
myself  the  character  which  I  had  assumed;  to  imagine  how,  as  a 
Briton,  I  should  be  struck  with  Richmond,  its  landscapes,  its  public 
characters,  its  manners,  together  with  the  political  sentiments  and 
moral  complexion  of  the  Virginians  generally.  I  succeeded  so  well 
that  in  several  parts  of  the  country,  particularly  in  Gloucester,  and 
in  the  neighbourhood  of  Norfolk,  the  people  went  so  far  as  to  declare 
that  they  had  seen  the  very  foreigner,  (and  a  Briton  he  was,  too,) 
who  had  written  the  letters.  The  editor  of  a  paper  in  Massachusetts, 
by  whom  the  letters  were  republished,  declared  his  opinion  that  the 
author  was  an  American  who  had  received  his  education  in  Great 
Britain,  and  had  now  returned  to  his  native  country.  Otherwise  he 
could  not  account  for  the  union  of  British  prejudice  with  the  intimate 
knowledge  of  this  country,  which  was  manifested  in  the  work.  You 
may  be  sure  that  I  was  not  a  little  tickled  with  these  sagacious  guesses. 
Unfortunately,  however,  in  my  zeal  to  support  my  adopted  character, 
I  forgot  myself  too  far  in  some  of  the  letters.  Hence  the  strictures 
on  the  entertainers  of  Dunmore's  sou ;  hence  the  portraits  of  living 
characters,  which  I  drew  with  a  mind  as  perfectly  absorbed  in  the 
contemplation  of  the  originals,  and  as  forgettive  of  personal  conse 
quences  "as  if  I  had  really  belonged  to  another  planet;"  and,  upon 
my  honour,  with  as  little  ill-will  towards  either  of  the  gentlemen.  It 

was  not  until  it  appeared  in  print  that  the  letter  portraying  R 

and  W startled  me.     Then  the  indiscretion  stared  me  full  in 

the  face;  but  "the  die  was  cast," — and,  to  make  the  worst  of  it,  I 
had  merely  published  imprudent  truths.     But  I  had  made  enemies  of 
VOL.  I.  — 10 


110  ANECDOTES.  [1893—1804. 

the  gentlemen  themselves',  with  all  their  connexions  and  dependencies. 

To  W I  have  made  some  atonement  in  the  last  edition,  because 

of  the  magnanimity  with  which  he  viewed  the  publication ;  but  to 

R I  have  not  offered,  and  I  never  will  offer,  an  expiation.     He 

had  the  vanity  to  declare  that  the  whole  work,  although  it  embraced 
such  a  variety  of  topics,  had  one  sole  design,  and  that  was  to  degrade 
him ;  was  weak  enough  to  mention,  in  one  of  his  arguments  before 
Mr.  Wythe,  "  the  scrutinizing  eye  of  the  British  Spy,"  and  to  express 
to  his  brethren  his  wish  that  the  British  Spy  was  practising  at  that 
bar.  This  has  been  told  me  on  unquestionable  authority.  In  his 
last  wish  he  has  been  in  a  measure  gratified.  He  was  called  to  the 
bar  of  the  Suffolk  District  Court  in  an  important  case  in  which  I  op 
posed  him.  The  question  was  a  legal  one,  and  the  argument,  of 
course,  addressed  to  the  court.  He  had  the  conclusion,  and,  as  Tyler 
and  Prentis  were  the  judges,  I  was  a  little  uneasy  lest  the  weight  of 

R ?>s  name,  added  to  the  authoritative  manner  of  his  speaking, 

should  have  an  undue  effect  on  their  honours;  for  this  reason  I 
thought  myself  authorised  to  express  this  apprehension,  which  I  did 
with  the  highest  compliments  to  his  eloquence.  I  went  farther,  and 
anticipated,  as  well  as  I  could,  not  only  the  matter  but  the  very  man 
ner  of  the  replies  which  I  supposed  he  would  make  to  my  argument. 
I  am  told  that  all  this  was  most  strikingly  in  the  spirit,  style,  and 
manner  of  the  British  Spy.  I  had,  however,  no  intention  to  wound 
his'  feelings,  but  merely  to  do  justice  to  my  cause,  and  give  it  fair 
play  before  the  court. 

Apprehending,  from  the  faces  of  the  company,  as  well  as  from  the 

mortified  looks  of  R ,  that  I  had  gone  beyond  my  purpose,  and 

said  more  than  the  occasion  justified,  I  spoke  to  him,  and  stated  very 
sincerely  the  purpose  of  my  remarks.  He  professed  to  be  satisfied ; 
but  he  was  disconcerted  and  wounded,  past  all  power  of  forgiving. 
He  was  so  confounded,  that  in  his  argument  he  manifested  nothing 
of  the  orator,  nor  even  of  himself,  but  the  person  and  voice.  His 
arguments  were  the  very  weakest  his  cause  furnished ;  his  order  (to 
use  an  Irishism)  was  all  confusion,  and  he  is  said  to  have  made  the 
very  worst  speech  that  he  ever  did  make.  In  short,  he  disappointed 
every  body,  and  lost  a  cause  which  he  had  declared  himself,  all  over 
the  country,  sure  to  gain.  If  he  had  never  been  my  enemy  before, 
that  one  adventure  would  have  made  him  so.  He  is,  I  suppose,  im 
placable  ;  but,  as  my  heart  acquits  me  of  any  premeditated  injury, 
and  as  I  fear  him  not,  I  am  very  little  disturbed  at  his  displeasure. 
Mr.  TV—  —  is  not  only  reconciled,  but,  to  all  appearance,  even  partial 
to  me,  since  he  has  been  lately  instrumental  in  promoting  my  profes 
sional  benefit.  Marshall,  too,  has  given  me  a  fee  in  a  Chancery  case. 
Perhaps  they  are  pleased  in  running  parallels  between  themselves  and 
some  great  Roman,  as  Julius  Ceesar,  who,  being  severely  libelled  by 
Catullus,  invited  his  libeller  to  supper  and  treated  him  so  courteously, 


CHAP.  IX.]  A   CRITICISM.  Ill 

that  he  was  ever  after  his  friend.  Be  it  so.  I  am  sure  that  I  am 
no  libeller  in  intention ;  and,  if  I  am  not  blinded  by  partiality,  the 
portraits  in  question  are  marked  with  candour  and  benevolence.  With 
regard  to  the  justifiability  of  the  thing,  I  am  not  yet  convinced  that 
established  lawyers  are  not  proper  game  for  the  press,  so  far  as  con 
cerns  their  talents;  nor  am  I  clear  that  the  procedure  was  wrong  on 
the  ground  of  public  utility.  That  it  was  indiscreet,  I  am  willing  to 
admit,  and  I  heartily  wish  I  had  let  them  alone.  Yet  I  am  very 
sure  that  a  great  part  of  the  public  interest  excited  by  the  Spy,  is 
imputable  to  those  portraits  of  prominent  characters.  For  my  own 
part,  I  declare  sincerely,  that  when  I  shall  have  reached  that  age  in 
which  I  may  be  supposed  to  have  touched  the  zenith  of  my  mind,  I 
should  be  so  far  from  being  displeased,  that  I  should  be  gratified  in 
seeing  my  intellectual  portrait  set  in  a  popular  work. 

It  was  alleged,  by  a  writer  in  the  Examiner,  under  the  signature 
of  Cato,  that,  "  in  a  professional  point  of  view,  the  Spy  was  ungener 
ous,  because  it  was  an  attempt  in  the  author  to  degrade  the  talents  of 
competitors  whom  he  ought  to  have  met  only  on  equal  terms." 

Now,  the  fact  is,  that  they  are  no  competitors  of  mine.  I  do  not 
practise  in  the  same  court  with  any  of  them,  and  whether  they  are 
deified  or  damned,  my  revenue  will  be  the  same.  How,  then,  is  my 
interest  involved  in  the  affair;  even  if  I  were  capable  of  being  in 
fluenced,  in  such  a  case,  by  so  sordid  a  principle  ? 

I  cannot  help  being  surprised  at  what  you  tell  me  relative  to  the 
opinion  of  my  political  apostasy.  I  am  not,  indeed,  surprised  that 

such  an  opinion  should  exist;  for,  after  the  dereliction  of  B , 

almost  any  suspicions  of  this  nature,  about  any  body,  are  pardonable 
But  what  /  am  surprised  at  is,  that  any  man,  however  "  young,"  who 
deserves  to  be  "  highly  esteemed  for  intellect/7  should  believe  the 
British  Spy  to  contain  evidence  of  my  apostasy. 

For  the  purpose  of  personal  concealment,  as  well  as  for  the  pur 
pose  of  keeping  alive  the  public  curiosity,  it  was  my  business  to  main 
tain  the  character  which  I  had  assumed,  and  therefore  the  sentiments 
of  the  Spy  are  those  of  a  Briton.  Would  it  not  have  been  absurd 
to  clothe  a  Briton  with  the  opinions  and  feelings  of  a  Virginian  and  a 
llepublican  ? 

******* 

I  am  glad  that  you,  yourself,  have  viewed  this  subject  in  a  proper 
light.  No,  my  dear  Dabney,  I  am  not  changed.  If  I  were  basely 
disposed  to  apostatise,  I  should  at  least  have  more  cunning  than  to 
choose  this  time  for  it,  when  the  refulgence  of  the  administration  has 
struck  its  enemies  blind  and  dumb.  Those  who  suppose  me  an  apos 
tate,  pay  as  poor  a  compliment  to  my  understanding,  as  they  do  to 
the  rectitude  of  my  heart.  But  I  am  not  angry  with  them  for  it; 
since,  from  what  America  has  exhibited  in  some  of  her  leading 


112  A  CRITICISM.  [1803—1804. 

characters,  each  man  in  the  community  has  a  right  to  exclaim  with 
Cato,  "the  world  has  grown  so  wicked,  that  I  am  surprised  at 
nothing." 

Your  remarks  on  the  Spy,  as  a  writer,  are,  I  think,  rather  the  sen 
timents  of  a  friend,  than  the  opinions  of  a  critic.  Let  me  give  you 
my  opinion  of  those  letters.  Putting  aside  the  traits  by  which  the 
author  sustains  his  dramatic  character,  his  sentiments  are  generally 
just,  and  sometimes  display  the  man  of  feeling.  But  his  disquisitions 
are  too  desultory,  and  the  topics  too  lightly  touched  to  contain  much 
of  the  useful.  The  letters  bespeak  a  mind  rather  frolicksome  and 
sprightly,  than  thoughtful  and  penetrating;  and  therefore  a  mind 
qualified  to  amuse,  for  the  moment,  but  not  to  benefit  either  its  pro 
prietor,  or  the  world,  by  the  depth  and  utility  of  its  researches.  The 
style,  although  sometimes  happy,  is  sometimes,  also,  careless  and 
poor;  and,  still  more  frequently,  overloaded  with  epithets;  and  its 
inequality  proves  either  that  the  author  wanted  time  or  industry  or 
taste  to  give  it,  throughout,  a  more  even  tenor.  Yet  these  letters  are 
certainly  superior  to  the  trash  with  which  we  are  so  frequently  gorged 
through  the  medium  of  the  press. 

Such  is  the  character  which,  if  I  were  a  critical  reviewer,  and  were 
reviewing  this  work,  I  should  certainly  give  of  it ;  and  yet,  I  cannot 
but  confess  that  if  a  critic  of  reputation  were  to  draw  such  a  character, 
I  should  be  as  much  mortified  as  if  it  were  unjust.  Strange,  incon 
sistent  creature  is  man !  But  enough  of  the  Spy,  —  except  that  I 
will  tell  you  I  was  very  near  drawing  the  character  of  "  the  Honour 
able  Thomas"  in  it.  I  had  the  outlines  fixed  in  my  mind,  but  I 
found,  on  the  experiment,  that  in  finishing  up  the  portrait,  I  should 
be  obliged,  either  to  sacrifice  the  unity  of  my  assumed  character,  or 
to  dilute  some  of  the  colours  in  the  most  unpardonable  manner.  I 
had  another  consideration.  He  was  the  President,  with  a  consider 
able  train  of  patronage ;  and,  by  the  time  which  I  had  fixed  for  the 
insertion  of  his  portrait,  I  had  begun  to  be  suspected  as  the  author 
of  the  Spy.  I  knew,  therefore,  that  political  malignity  and  meanness 
would  ascribe  the  sketch  to  motives  which  I  disdain.  On  all  which 
accounts,  citizen  Thomas  has  escaped  being  butchered  by  my  partiality 
for  him. 

You  are  beginning,  by  this  time,  to  accuse  me  of  egotism ;  but,  be 
tween  friends,  there  is  no  such  thing ;  for,  friends  are  one  and  indi* 
visible.  Besides,  I  have  said  nothing  more  than  what  I  thought 
necessary  to  vindicate  myself  against  aspersions  which  you  have,  no 
doubt,  read,  and  which,  perhaps,  form  a  part  of  that  torrent  of 
abuse  which  has  been,  and  still  is,  pouring  out  against  me. 

******* 

Little  did  I  dream  of  such  serious  consequences  from  what,  to  me, 
seemed  an  innocent  sport ;  much  less  did  I  dream  that  those  trifles 
would  have  survived  the  newspaper  ephemerae  of  the  day ;  and  least 


CHAP.  IX.J  LETTER  TO   CARR.  113 

of  all,  that  they  would  have  been  perpetuated  and  extended  by  a 
second  edition  of  the  pamphlet.     0  tempora ! 

*  *  •*  *  #•  * 

Excuse  my  brevity,  and  believe  me 

Your  friend, 

WM.  WIRT. 


TO   DABNEY  CARR. 

NORFOLK,  June  8,  1804. 

#  4f  *  *  *  * 

You  will  acquit  me  of  the  poor  vanity  of  boasting  of  the  pressure 
of  business.  In  the  Borough  of  Norfolk  every  drone  feels  the  pres 
sure  of  business.  This  pressure  often,  too,  depends  less  on  the  quan 
tum  of  business  than  on  the  strength  and  dexterity  of  the  agent.  If 
I  had  given  more  of  my  time  to  the  books  and  practice  of  my  profes 
sion,  I  should  have  less  investigation  and  toil  to  undergo  now ;  but  I 
used  to  think  it  enough  to  have  a  tolerable  understanding  of  that  kind 
of  business  which  usually  occurred  in  the  middle  country.  I  had 
not  the  noble  and  generous  emulation  which  should  have  incited  me 
to  master  the  science  of  law  in  all  its  departments.  The  consequence 
is,  that  being  transplanted  to  the  shores  of  the  Atlantic,  where  the 
questions  grow  almost  entirely  out  of  commerce,  I  have  fallen  into 
a  business  totally  new  to  me,  and  every  case  calls  for  elaborate  exami 
nation.  But  I  deserve  the  addition  of  this  labour,  and  willingly  do 
penance  for  my  past  idleness.  The  principal  inconvenience  resulting 
from  it  is,  that  I  have  no  time  left  for  reading ;  and  now,  most  per 
versely,  because  it  is  impracticable,  I  am  stung  with  a  restless  passion 
for  the  acquirement  of  science.  In  this  dilemma  I  have  no  refuge  or 
consolation,  except  in  very  distant  prospect.  I  look  on,  perhaps  with 
fond  delusion,  to  the  time  when  I  shall  be  able  to  retreat  from  the 
toil  of  business;  when,  in  the  bosom  of  my  own  family,  I  shall  find 
the  joys  of  ease,  independence,  and  domestic  bliss  —  become  a  very 
epicure  in  literary  luxuries,  and  perhaps  raise  some  monument  to  my 
name,  to  which  my  posterity,  at  least,  may  look  with  pleasure.  I 
grant  it,  sir — it  is  extremely  visionary — it  most  probably  never  will 
come  to  pass  —  but  possibly  it  may,  and  the  possibility,  remote  as  it 
is,  reflects  a  cheering  ray  to  gild  the  darkness  of  the  present  moment. 
Not,  indeed,  that  the  present  moment  is  as  dark  as  Egypt  once  was. 
It  is  true,  that  I  have  yet  to  struggle  into  notice ;  I  have  yet  a  for 
tune  to  make,  a  family  to  provide  for — a  family  who,  if  my  life  were 
terminated  in  any  short  time,  would  be  thrown  on  the  charity  of  the 
world.  It  is  this  reflection  that  wraps  my  soul  in  gloom,  and  the 
horror  is  deepened,  when  I  consider  the  climate  of  Norfolk,  and 
remember  that  I  am  yet  a  stranger  to  it.  To  think  of  this,  and  then 
10*  H 


114  RELIGIOUS  REFLECTIONS.  11803— 1804, 

to  look  upon  my  wife  and  child ! — But  "  Away  with  melancholy" — 

for 

"There's  a  sweet  little  cherub  sits  smiling  aloft, 
To  keep  watch  for  the  life  of  poor " 

me. Jlllons  ! 

You  have  made,  sir,  in  your  letter  of  the  29th  of  February,  a  rhap 
sody  on  life,  and  love,  and  friendship,  which  is  exquisitely  beautiful 
and  just.  How  grateful  are  such  effusions  !  how  grateful  to  my  mind 
and  to  my  heart !  They  make  me  proud  of  your  friendship.  My 
dear  0.,  it  is  at  such  moments  that  my  soul  flies  out  to  meet  yours, 
and  as  they  commingle,  I  feel  myself  exalted  and  refined.  Can  mere 
matter  be  excited  to  ecstacies  so  pure  and  celestial  as  these  ?  Or  is 
there  not,  indeed,  "  a  divinity  that  stirs  within  us  ?"  I  hope,  I  wish, 
I  cheerfully  believe  that  I  have  a  soul,  for  then  I  think  myself  more 
worthy  of  your  friendship.  I  should  feel  humiliated  and  mortified,  if 
I  could  imagine  the  friendship,  the  warm,  the  generous  emotions  of  a 
heart  and  mind  like  yours,  lavished  on  a  perishable  mass  of  matter ; 
and  I  would  not,  if  I  could  help  it,  be  in  any  thing  unworthy  of  your 
friendship. 

Now,  do  not  puzzle  yourself  and  me  too,  on  this  subject  of  the  soul, 
by  a  subtle  disquisition  concerning  the  highest  point  of  perfectibility 
to  which  matter  may  be  organized ;  by  weighing  and  balancing  the 
probabilities  of  different  opinions,  as  we  were  wont  to  do,  in  the  scales 
of  human  reason.  I  am  persuaded  that  there  is  a  range  of  subjects 
above  the  reach  of  human  reason ;  subjects  on  which  reason  cannot 
decide,  because  "  it  cannot  command  a  view  of  the  whole  ground." 
Could  the  tick,  which  invades  and  buries  itself  in  my  foot,  conceive  or 
describe  the  anatomy  of  my  frame  ?  Could  the  man  who  has  passed 
every  moment  of  his  life  at  the  foot  of  the  Andes,  paint  the  prospect 
which  is  to  be  seen  from  the  summit  ?  No  more,  in  my  opinion,  can 
leason  discuss  the  being  of  a  God,  or  the  reality  of  that  miracle,  the 
Christian  faith.  If  you  ask  me  why  I  believe  in  the  one  or  the  other, 
I  can  refer  you  to  no  evidence  which  you  can  examine,  because  I  must 
refer  you  to  my  own  feelings.  I  cannot,  for  instance,  look  abroad  on 
the  landscape  of  spring,  wander  among  blooming  orchards  and  gardens, 
and  respire  the  fragrance  which  they  exhale,  without  feeling  the  exist 
ence  of  a  God  :  my  heart  involuntarily  dilates  itself,  and,  before  I  am 
aware  of  it,  gratitude  and  adoration  burst  from  my  lips.  If  you  ask 
me  why  these  objects  have  never  produced  this  effect  before,  I  answer 
that  I  cannot  tell  you.  Perhaps  my  nature  has  grown  more  suscepti 
ble;  perhaps  I  have  learned  to  rely  less  on  the  arbitrations  of  human 
reason ;  perhaps  I  have  gotten  over  the  vanity  of  displaying  the  ele 
vation  and  perspicacity  of  intellect  on  which  the  youthful  deist  is  apt 
to  plume  himself.  Whatever  may  be  the  cause,  I  thank  it  for  lead 
ing  me  from  the  dreary  and  sterile  waste  of  infidelity.  I  am  happy 
in  my  present  impressions,  and  had  rather  sit  alone  in  Arabia  Felix, 


CHAP.  IX.]  THE  BRITISH  SPY.  115 

than  wander  over  the  barren  sands  of  the  desert,  in  company  with 
Bolingbroke  and  Voltaire. 

Reason,  my  dear  friend,  in  its  proper  sphere,  is  the  best,  and  ought 
to  be  the  only  guide  of  our  actions ;  but  let  it  keep  within  its  proper 
sphere,  and  confine  its  operations  to  its  proper  subjects.  I  admire  its 
powers,  I  admire  its  beauties.  I  also  admire  the  powers  of  the  che 
mist,  and  the  beauty  of  his  science  :  yet,  notwithstanding  the  astonish 
ing  developement  which  the  chemist  makes  of  the  secrets  of  nature, 
however  his  experiments  may  break  up  long-established  principles, 
decompose  bodies  which  for  centuries  have  been  deemed  simple  pri 
mitive  elements,  and  prove  them  to  be  combinations ;  re-decompose 
the  ingredients  of  that  combination,  and  detect  them,  in  their  turn,  to 
be  compositions ;  in  short,  however  far  the  chemist  may  push  his  dis 
coveries,  his  labours  must  still  be  confined  to  matter  ;  he  cannot  ana 
lyze  thought.  But  thought  is  not  more  different  from  or  more  superior 
to  matter,  than  God  is  to  that  class  of  subjects  which  constitute  the 
theatre  of  reason.  Reason  is  not,  therefore,  the  proper  channel  of 
conviction,  in  matters  so  far  above  its  reach.  That  conviction  can  be 
given,  in  my  opinion,  only  through  the  channel  of  sensibilitv :  this  is 
another  name  for  what  Soame  Jennyngs  calls  the  internal  evidence  of 
the  Christian  faith,  and  what  is  generally  well  understood  by  the  in 
trinsic  evidence  of  revealed  religion. 

But  enough  of  a  subject  on  which  I  should  not  be  at  all  astonished 
if,  already,  you  think  and  pronounce  me  mad.  When  you  are  as  old 
as  I  am,  you  may  thus  grow  mad  in  your  turn ;  for,  be  it  remembered, 
that  when  I  was  as  young  as  you  are,  I  was  as  wise  as  you  are,  on 
this  subject. 

Do  not  suspect,  however,  that  I  am  a  downright  bedlamite,  nor 
even  an  enthusiast.  My  sentiments,  on  this  subject,  are  calm  and 
temperate ;  they  fill  me  with  no  horrors  for  the  past,  nor  agonizing 
terrors  for  the  future.  I  cherish  them  because  they  are  a  source  of 
pure  enjoyment  to  me,  because  they  render  me  more  happy  in  every 
relation  of  life,  and  more  respectable  in  my  own  eyes;  nor  would 
they  even  have  led  me  to  annoy  you  with  this  declaration  of  them, 
if  you  had  not  demanded  an  explanation  of  some  passages  in  the  Spy. 

As  to  the  Spy,  let  me  tell  you  that  your  favourable  opinion  of  it 
gratifies  me  very  highly,  for  I  know  your  judgment  and  your  Can 
dour  ;  but  let  me,  also,  tell  you,  that  after  you  had  listened  to  the 
'voice  of  your  friendship,  and  gratified  me,  too,  with  the  sound  of  it,  I 
looked  that  you  should  have  put  off  everything  like  partiality,  assumed 
the  rigid  critic  and  censor  of  the  world,  and  have  told  me  the  faults 
of  those  compositions.  I  know  that  some  speculative  moralists  have 
said  and  written  that  a  man  cannot  bear  to  hear  his  faults  told,  even 
by  his  friend.  It  is  said,  too,  that  authors  are  particularly  ticklish 
about  the  offspring  of  their  brain.  This  may  be  true  :  but  I  am  sure 
that  I  could  hear  my  faults  from  you,  and  mend  upon  it.  Some  of 


116  THE  BRITISH  SPY.  [1803—1804. 

the  faults  of  the  Spy  I  know  and  was  conscious  of  when  they  wero 
sent  to  the  press ;  such  as  the  redundance  of  words,  and  the  compa 
ratively  small  bulk  of  the  matter.  Next  to  the  exuberance  of  ver 
biage  and  the  want  of  matter,  is  the  levity,  desultoriness,  and  some 
times  commonness  of  the  thoughts  which  are  expressed.  Upon  the 
whole,  the  work  is  too  tumid  and  too  light ;  yet  these,  perhaps,  are 
the  very  properties  which  gave  it  the  degree  of  admiration  which  it 
excited ;  for  the  essay  on  the  liberty  of  the  press,  the  work  of  Hor- 
tensius,  which  came  out  at  the  same  time  in  the  same  paper,  had  not, 
as  far  as  I  have  learned,  one  half  of  its  popularity. 

I  have  a  notion,  entre  nous,  of  making  another  experiment  of  the 
public  taste,  this  summer ;  for  I  shall  be  driven  from  this  place,  for 
a  summer  or  two,  by  the  yellow  fever,  and  I  had  better  be  doing  any 
thing  than  to  be  idle.  I  shall  sometimes  get  tired  of  reading,  and 
composition  will  then  diversify  my  employments  very  agreeably. 
What  say  you  ?  My  friend  Tazewell,  here,  does  not  approve  of  such 
engagements.  He  says  that  it  gives  a  man  a  light  and  idle  appearance, 
in  the  eye  of  the  world,  and  might,  therefore,  injure  me  in  my  pro 
fession.  If  you  concur  in  this  opinion,  I  shall  renounce  the  project; 
otherwise,  I  shall  incline  to  make  another  exhibition, — but  of  what 
nature  I  have  not  yet  determined.  Certainly  I  shall  write  no  more 
Spies;  " too  much  pudding/ '  &c. 

I  have  been  reading  Johnson's  Lives  of  poets  and  famous  men  till 
I  have  contracted  an  itch  for  biography ;  do  not  be  astonished,  there 
fore,  if  you  see  me  come  out  with  a  very  material  and  splendid  life 
of  some  departed  Virginian  worthy, — for  I  meddle  no  more  with  the 
living.  Virginia  has  lost  some  great  men,  whose  names  ought  not 
to  perish.  If  I  were  a  Plutarch,  I  would  collect  their  lives  for  the 
honour  of  the  State  and  the  advantage  of  posterity. 

Greorge  Tucker,  of  Richmond,  wrote  the  Enquirer.*  I  concur  with 
you  in  the  opinion  that  he  has  the  advantage  of  the  Spy.  He  had  a 
more  intimate  acquaintance  with  the  subject  •  his  style  is  more  chaste 
and  equal,  and  his  compositions  have  much  more  of  the  philosopher 
and  author. 

Let  me  tell  you  that  the  Spy  never  read  a  page  in  Buffon  in  his 
life,  nor  knew  any  more  of  his  theory  than  what  he  one  day  heard 
Charles  Meriwether  mention,  in  a  very  short  conversation.  Of  the 
Abbe  Raynal's  West  Indies,  he  once  read  a  few  pages,  as  he  rode 
from  Albemarle  to  Orange  court.  This  was  all  the  acquired  informa 
tion  that  he  had  on  the  subject, — so  that  the  match  was  very  unequal. 

The  speculation  in  the  second  letter  was  a  mere  crude  adventure, 
loading  to  some  singular  and  whimsical  consequences,  and  it  was 

*  Some  articles,  under  this  signature,  were  published  in  the  papers,  at 
Richmond,  during  the  publication  of  the  Spy.  They  were  designed  to  con 
trovert  some  of  the  geological  arguments  presented  in  that  work. 


CHAP.  X.I  SUCCESS  AT  NORFOLK.  117 

thought  likely,  therefore,  to  please  by  its  novelty ;  but  'the  calculation 
was  a  false  one, — for,  unphilosophical  as  it  was,  it  was  too  philoso 
phical  for  newspaper-readers.  It  was,  therefore,  no  favourite,  and 
rather  sunk  the  character  of  the  Spy  than  raised  it. 

•X-  -X-  *•  7f  *  *• 

The  Spy  did  write,  as  you  were  informed,  the  pieces  signed  Mar- 
tinus  Scriblerus;  they  were  partly  in  imitation  of  Pope  and  Co/s 
criticisms  imputed  to  their  hero  of  the  same  name.  The  originals, 
of  which  you  say  you  would  demand  the  sight,  were  sent  to  the  press ; 
nor  is  there  any  vestige  of  them,  either  printed  or  written,  in  possession 
of  the  Spy.  ;Tis  no  matter :  they  answered  their  purpose  of  amusing 
for  the  moment,  and  now  let  them  rest  in  peace. 

*  *  •*  *  #  •* 

I  hear  very  often,  that  you  are  growing  fast  in  your  profession. 
How  would  it  glad  my  heart  to  live  till  you  touch  the  acme  of  forensic 
glory,  to  touch  it  with  you  too,  and,  as  Peachy  would  add,  hang  with 
you  there,  like  two  thieves  under  a  gallows.  How  is  that  vagabond 
P.  coming  forward  ?  Does  he  erect  his  chest  in  the  front  bar  ?  Does 
he  spout  and  thunder  like  the  cataract  of  Niagara,  or  does  he  roar 
them,  "  an  it  were  any  sucking  dove  ?"  If  he  does  not  do  all  these 
things  by  turns,  I  disinherit  and  anathematise  him  from  the  crown  of 
his  head  to  the  sole  of  his  foot.  I  owe  the  rascal  a  letter  or  two,  and 
I  will  pay  him  shortly,  making  up  in  quantity  what  I  want  in  num 
ber  and  quality.  In  the  mean  time,  give  my  love  to  him. 

Heaven  bless  and  preserve  you ! 

Your  friend, 

WM.  WIRT. 


CHAPTER  X. 

1804—5. 

SUCCESS  AT  NORFOLK.  —  PROJECT  OF  A  BIOGRAPHICAL  WORK. — 
PATRICK  HENRY. ST.  GEORGE  TUCKER. LETTER  TO  THIS  GEN 
TLEMAN. THE  RAINBOW. LETTER  TO  EDWARDS. 

FROM  the  date  of  his  establishment  in  Norfolk,  in  the  winter  of 
1803—4,  we  may  compute  Wirt's  rapid  advance  to  eminence  in  his 
profession.  He  was  here  brought  into  a  new  sphere  of  legal  study. 
The  commercial  and  maritime  law,  to  which  he  was  in  a  great  degree 
a  stranger,  no w:  became  the  familiar  subjects  of  his  attention.  As  we 


118  PRACTICE  AT  THE  BAR.  [1804—5. 

have  seen  in  the  letters  written  at  this  period,  he  was  totally  unused 
to  the  topics,  manners,  wants  and  concerns  which  predominate  in  tho 
society,  and  especially  in  the  business  circles,  of  an  active  trading  sea 
port.  To  master  the  first  difficulties  of  such  a  position,  and  to  win 
the  reputation  which  his  ambition  coveted,  exacted  from  him  great 
labour  and  study.  He  Lad  friends  around  him  to  cheer  his  hopes  and 
stimulate  his  efforts  to  the  task ;  but  these  friends  were  also  the  com 
petitors  of  his  forensic  struggles,  men  of  established  renown,  and  justly 
reputed  for  brilliant  talents  as  well  as  professional  accomplishment ; 
and  it  may  be  regarded  as  no  doubtful  praise  of  the  new  associate  in 
this  fraternity,  to  say  that  he  speedily  earned  and  sustained,  in  the 
public  estimation,  a  fair  and  acknowledged  title  to  a  place  on  the 
same  platform  which  they  occupied. 

Whatever  may  be  said  to  the  disadvantage  of  the  law  as  a  profes 
sion  j  notwithstanding  all  that  is  truly  and  untruly  imputed  to  it,  in 
the  way  of  derogation,  by  popular  satire  and  by  vulgar  jest,  it  is  cha 
racterized  by  one  condition,  in  which  it  has  the  advantage  of  nearly 
all  other  business  pursuits ,  that  eminence  in  it  is  always  a  test  of 
talent  and  acquirement.  Whilst,  in  other  professions,  quackery  and 
imposition  may  often  succeed  to  elevate  the  professor  in  popular  es 
teem,  the  lawyer  gains  no  foothold  at  the  bar,  nor  with  the  public, 
which  he  has  not  fairly  won.  A  grave  and  austere  bench  is  a  perilous 
foe  to  the  make-believe  trickery  of  an  unprepared  or  ignorant  advocate ; 
the  surrounding  bar,  too,  is  not  to  be  put  off  with  sham  seemings, 
contrived  as  a  substitute  for  skill.  The  first  is  characteristically  noted 
for  its  impatience  under  the  inflictions  of  those  who  bring  less  learning 
than  pretension  to  their  task ;  and  the  last  is  quite  as  much  signalized 
for  the  comic  relish  with  which  it  hunts  such  game  into  its  coverts. 
Forensic  life  is,  in  great  part,  life  in  the  noonday,  in  presence  of  sharp- 
sighted  observers  and  not  the  most  indulgent  of  critics.  It  has  always 
two  sides,  whereof  one  is  a  S9ntinel  upon  the  other;  and  a  blunder,  a 
slip,  or  a  slovenly  neglect  of  the  matter  in  hand,  never  escapes  with 
out  its  proper  comment.  Dulness  is  sure  to  be  stamped  or  patented 
with  such  sufficient  publication,  as  to  go  ever  unquestioned  upon  its 
settled  and  intrinsic  demerit.  The  line  between  good  fellowship  and 
professional  standing  is  so  broadly  drawn,  that  one  never  interferes 
with  the  other.  The  best  social  quality  in  the  world  affords  no  help 


CHAP.  X.]  PROJECTED  WORK.  119 

to  the  lack  of  skill  before  court  or  jury.  Each  stands  on  its  own 
foundation,  detached  and  independent;  so  that  a  man  may  be  the 
worst  pleader  and  advocate,  and  the  most  beloved  of  social  friends  at 
the  bar,  winning  all  private  esteem,  but  finding  no  cover  or  conceal 
ment  for  his  professional  raggedness.  The  public  opinion  of  the 
merits  of  a  lawyer,  is  but  the  winnowed  and  sifted  judgment  which 
reaches  the  world  through  the  bar,  and  is,  therefore,  made  up  after 
severe  ordeal  and  upon  standard  proof. 

The  success  of  the  British  Spy,  which  had  now  reached  perhaps  a 
third  or  fourth  edition,  and  the  reputation  which  it  brought  the  author, 
were  too  flattering  to  allow  him  to  abandon  the  path  of  literature,  even 
under  all  the  provocations  to  do  so  which  the  engrossment  of  his  pro 
fession  supplied.  No  man  ever  wrote  a  successful  book  without  con 
templating  another.  The  frequent  echo  of  one's  name  as  a  popular 
author,  and  the  agreeable  fillip  to  personal  vanity  which  is  given  by 
the  notice  of  the  press,  magnifying  into  matter  of  public  importance 
the  conceits  of  one's  brain  and  rendering  his  thoughts  a  commodity  in 
the  market — these  things  are  not  unrelished  or  forgotten  by  the  mo 
dest  craft, — but  straightway  set  the  wits  again  at  work  to  redouble 
the  echo  and  its  accompaniments.  In  the  letters  of  the  Spy,  the 
sketches  of  personal  character  connected  with  the  notice  of  distin 
guished  living  persons,  had  formed  one  of  the  most  popular  attractions 
of  the  book,  and  the  author  was  said  to  have  been  very  happy  in  these 
delineations.  Whilst  many  admired  the  portraits,  others,  as  we  have 
seen,  were  offended  by  them ;  and  in  the  collision  of  opinion  between 
these  two  classes  of  readers,  it  was  very  evident  that  the  popularity 
of  the  book  was  much  promoted.  His  success  in  these  sketches,  most 
probably,  turned  his  thoughts  towards  a  plan  which  he  now  meditated 
of  writing  the  history  of  the  eminent  men  of  Virginia.  Many  of 
those,  most  distinguished  amongst  the  soldiers  and  civilians  of  the 
Revolution,  were  as  yet  unchronicled  upon  any  page  adapted  to  pre 
serve  the  distinct  record  of  their  deeds.  The  time  seemed  to  bo 
favourable  to  the  performance  of  this  duty.  To  say  nothing  of  Wash 
ington, — whose  history,  as  more  properly  belonging  to  the  nation, 
was  perhaps  not  included  in  this  scheme, — Patrick  Henry,  Edmund 
Pendleton,  Richard  Henry  Lee,  and  many  others,  whose  names  have 
shed  lustre  upon  the  State,  were,  at  this  date,  numbered  with  the 


120  LIFE  OF  PATRICK   HENRY.  [1804—1805. 

dead ;  but  the  incidents  of  their  lives  were  fresh  in  the  public  memory, 
and  capable  of  being  authenticated  by  sure  testimony.  An  equitable 
public  judgment,  undisturbed  by  the  prejudices  which  surround  living 
men,  might  be  expected  to  await  the  perusal  of  their  biographies  and 
to  do  justice  to  their  fame.  Neither  too  soon  for  this  judgment,  nor 
too  late  to  collect  the  veritable  materials  for  the  work,  this  was  the 
proper  time  to  essay  the  task  of  a  faithful  portraiture.  It  belonged 
to  this  generation ;  and  Wirt  supposed  he  might  assume  the  perform 
ance  of  this  duty,  with  some  certainty  of  its  favourable  acceptance  by 
the  public,  as  the  offering  of  one  who  had  already  established  his  title 
to  their  good  opinion  by  what  he  had  written.  It  would  have  been 
both  a  grateful  and  a  graceful  tribute  from  an  adopted  son  of  the 
State,  who  had  been  honoured  by  so  many  proofs  of  the  cordial  esteem 
and  substantial  friendship  of  the  community  in  which  he  lived. 

In  the  partial  accomplishment  of  his  purpose  he  directed  his  first 
attention  to  Patrick  Henry.  It  is  to  this  endeavour  we  owe  the  pub 
lication  of  the  biography  which  we  shall  hereafter  have  occasion  to 
notice.  The  fulfilment  of  the  entire  original  design  was  interrupted 
by  the  engagements  of  professional  life,  and  the  biography  of  Henry 
is,  consequently,  all  that  was  achieved  of  a  scheme  which  embraced  a 
wide  field  of  various  and  useful  research. 

Amongst  the  most  cherished  of  Wirt's  associates,  at  this  time,  was 
St.  George  Tucker,  then  the  President  Judge  of  the  Court  of  Appeals 
of  Virginia.  This  gentleman,  whose  fame  is  most  honourably  asso 
ciated  with  the  national  jurisprudence,  had  held  the  post  of  Professor 
of  Law,  at  William  and  Mary,  where  Wirt,  during  his  residence  at 
Williamsburg,  with  other  members  of  the  bar,  was  an  occasional 
attendant  upon  his  lectures.  The  Judge  was  distinguished  for  his 
scholastic  acquirements,  his  taste  and  wit,  and  was  greatly  endeared 
to  the  society  of  his  friends  by  a  warm-hearted,  impulsive  nature, 
which  gave  a  peculiar  strength  to  his  attachments.  Though  some  ten 
years  the  senior  of  Wirt,  the  intercourse  between  them  was  that  of 
the  most  familiar  friendship,  and  was  enlivened  by  a  frequent  inter 
change  of  those  sallies  of  humour  and  good  fellowship  which  belong 
to  the  intimacies  of  men  of  equal  age  and  kindred  tastes.* 

*The  Judge  was  a  native  of  Bermuda.  Having  emigrated  to  Virginia  in 
his  youth,  he  completed  his  education  at  William  and  Mary  College.  He 


CHAP.  X.]  LETTER  TO  JUDGE  TUCKER.  121 

The  following  letter  illustrates  this  intimacy,  whilst  it  touches 
upon  the  subject  of  the  contemplated  biographies.  The  allusion  to 
"  The  Rainbow"  requires  an  explanation. 

In  the  year  1804,  Wirt  had  associated  with  a  few  friends  in  a 
scheme  to  publish  a  series  of  familiar  didactic  essays,  under  the  title 
of  The  Rainbow.  This  scheme  was  no  farther  carried  into  effect  than 
the  publication  of  ten  numbers  in  the  Richmond  Enquirer,  between 
August  and  October  of  that  year,  when  it  was  abandoned  These 
essays  were  subsequently  collected  into  a  thin  octavo,  and,  in  that 
guise,  seem  to  have  fallen  into  oblivion.  So  far  as  Wirt  participated 
in  them,  they  appear  to  have  been  rather  the  practisings  of  an  artist 
pursuing  his  studies,  than  a  work  he  would  choose  to  acknowledge  as 
the  product  of  his  mature  labour. 

TO  JUDGE  TUCKER. 

NORFOLK,  January  31,  1805. 
DEAR  SIR  : 

I  have  never,  until  now,  had  it  in  my  power  to  acknowledge  your 
favour  of  the  23d  instant.  It  is  full  to  the  purpose  of  my  request, 
and  I  thank  you  for  it  most  sincerely  and  cordially. 

As  you  seem  to  think  there  are  reasons  why  it  should  not  be 
shown,  I  promise  you  that  it  shall  not;  yet  you  "kiss  the  rod"  with 
so  much  humility  and  devotion,  that  I  cannot  think  their  high  mighti 
nesses  themselves  would  be  otherwise  than  gratified  by  its  perusal. 

I  am  somewhat  relieved  by  your  inquiry,  whether  I  received  the 
letter  and  packet  by  Mrs.  Bannister ;  for,  be  it  known  to  you,  in  two 
or  three  days  after  I  did  receive  that  communication,  I  had  read  all 
the  pamphlets  but  one ;  and  while  my  mind  was  yet  warm  with  the 
gratification  which  I  had  derived  from  them,  I  sat  down  and  wrote 
you  a  very  long  letter,  and  a  very  free  one, — so  very  free,  that  from 
my  hearing  no  more  from  you,  in  reply  to  one  or  two  little  requests 
which  it  contained,  I  was  afraid  that  I  might  have  been  too  uncere 
monious  with  you.  I  was  hesitating  whether  I  should  not  sit  down 
and  deprecate  your  wrath;  but  as  offences  proceed  only  from  the 
heart,  and  as  none,  I  was  very  sure,  had  proceeded  from  mine,  I 

entered  the  Judiciary  of  the  State  as  a  Judge  of  the  General  Court,  and  was 
promoted  to  the  Court  of  Appeals,  of  which  he  became  the  President.  Re 
signing  this  post  in  1811,  he  was  soon  afterwards  brought  into  the  Federal 
Judiciary,  as  a  Judge  of  the  United  States  District  Court  in  Eastern  Vir 
^inia,  which  appointment  he  held  until  his  death. 

'  VOL.  L  — 11 


122  MATERIALS  FOR  A  LIFE  OF  HENRY.      [1804—1805. 

thought  it  syllogistically  demonstrable  that  no  offence  had  been  given. 
And  yet  that  you  should  not,  in  so  long  a  time,  say  one  syllable  in 
reply  to  a  proposition  connected  with  literature,  was  so  irreconcilable 
with  your  politeness,  your  goodness,  and  your  passion  for  letters,  that 
I  began  to  suspect  I  had  satisfied  myself  with  a  sophism  instead  of  a 
demonstration  on  the  subject  of  offences;  and,  though  my  syllogism 
might  prove  that  no  offence  had  been  given,  yet  it  did  not  prove  that 
none  had  been  taken ;  and  so  "  note  the  difference/' — for  what  is 
taken,  is  not  always  given,  or  else  Hounslow  heath  and  the  Louvre 
would  be  less  distinguished  than  they  are.  Yet,  taking  offence  is  so 
different  a  thing  from  taking  a  purse,  or  a  Venus  de  Medicis,  the 
prize  and  the  gratification  so  infinitely  inferior,  that  I  cannot  believe 
there  is  much  illustration,  conviction  or  wit  in  the  parallel,  and  so — 
adieu  to  it. 

But  to  my  letter.  It  contained  a  very  grateful  and  sincere  ac 
knowledgment  for  your  interesting  present  by  Mrs.  B j  a  decla 
ration  of  the  pleasure  and  information  which  I  had  derived  from  the 
perusal  of  the  pamphlets,  particularly  that  in  relation  to  Louisiana, 
an  expression  of  my  surprise  that  the  public  should  discover  such  a 
gusto  for  the  froth,  and  frippery,  and  harlotry  of  some  compositions, 
while  they  neglected  the  clear  and  masculine  views  which  you  inva 
riably  give  of  your  subjects. 

******* 

My  letter  proceeded  to  condemn  the  modesty  with  which  you  had 
spoken  of  Williamsburg,  in  one  of  your  letters  to  that  sinner  Morse, 
and  insisted  that  much  more  might  have  been  said,  and  truly  said,  of 
the  natural  and  adventitious  beauties  of  the  scene,  the  science,  ele 
gance,  harmony  and  affection  of  the  society.  It  went  on  to  congra 
tulate  you  and  Judge  Nelson,  (and  there  was  a  spice  of  envy  in  the 
congratulation,)  on  the  Arcadian  times  which  you  were  enjoying,  and 
to  express  my  suspicion  that,  between  two  such  ardent  and  impor 
tunate  wooers,  their  ladyships,  the  muses,  had  very  little  time  for 
sleep. 

It  referred  to  an  anecdote  which  I  heard  Judge  Nelson  tell  of 
Patrick  Henry's  fondness  for  Livy,  and  begged  the  favour  of  you  to 
prevail  for  me,  with  his  honour,  to  give  me  that  anecdote  circumstan 
tially  and  critically. 

It  begged  another  favour  of  you ;  and  that  was,  as  you  had  fre 
quently  heard  P.  H.,  I  had  no  doubt,  in  conversation  and  debate, 
judicial  and  political,  to  do  me  the  kindness,  at  some  moment  of  per 
fect  ease  and  leisure,  to  sketch,  as  minutely  as  you  could,  even  to  the 
colour  of  his  eyes,  a  portrait  of  his  person,  attitudes,  gestures,  man 
ners  ;  a  description  of  his  voice,  its  tone,  energy,  and  modulations ; 
his  delivery,  whether  slow,  grave  and  solemn,  or  rapid,  sprightly  and 
animated ;  his  pronunciation,  whether  studiously  plain,  homely,  and 
sometimes  vulgar,  or  accurate,  courtly  and  ornate, — with  an  analysis 


CHAP.  X.]  BIOGRAPHICAL  WRITING.  123 

of  nis  mind,  the  variety,  order  and  predominance  of  its  powers ;  his 
information  as  a  lawyer,  a  politician,  a  scholar ;  the  peculiar  charac 
ter  of  his  eloquence,  &c.,  &c. ;  for  I  never  saw  him.  These  minutiae, 
which  constitute  the  most  interesting  part  of  biography,  are  not  to  be 
learnt  from  any  archives  or  records,  or  any  other  source  than  the 
minute  and  accurate  details  of  a  very  uncommon  observer. 

In  the  same  letter,  I  took  the  liberty  of  attempting  to  revive  and 
enforce  your  half-dormant  resolution  of  furnishing  an  essay  for  "  The 
Rainbow,"  on  the  subject  of  Biography;  and  of  combating  your  idea 
of  declining  that  essay  because  I  had  turned  my  thoughts  towards 
biography.  For,  if  the  objects  of  your  essay  would  be  to  show  the 
importance  and  utility  of  biographical  publications,  and  to  point  out 
the  duties  of  the  biographer,  it  would  be  so  far  from  hostile  that  it 
would  be  auxiliary  to  my  scheme ;  as  it  would  give  the  public  a  pre 
paratory  relish  for  that  kind  of  writing,  and  instruct  me  how  to  serve 
up  the  feast  to  the  best  advantage.  If,  instead  of  being  didactic,  the 
essay  was  intended  to  be,  itself,  a  biographical  sketch,  yet  the  limits 
prescribed  for  an  essay  would  merely  enable  you  to  excite,  without 
sating  the  public  curiosity,  and  would  therefore  be  a  good  prepara 
tion  for  a  more  expanded  narrative.  If,  again,  you  proposed  to  pur 
sue  this  subject  through  a  series  of  essays,  so  as  to  constitute,  in  the 
whole,  the  expanded  narrative  of  which  I  speak,  then  the  great  ob 
jects  at  which  I  aimed  (those  of  preserving  the  memory  of  our  illus 
trious  men,  and  of  perpetuating  to  Virginia  the  honour  of  having 
given  them  birth,)  would  be  completely  gained  by  those  essays.  I 
wish,  indeed,  that  you  would  take  this  task  off  of  my  hands.  I  fear 
much  that  it  will  be  out  of  my  power  to  perform  it.  I  find  so  much 
writing  to  do  in  my  professsion,  so  much  interruption  from  clients  who 
ask  counsel  that  sometimes  forces  me  on  a  close  and  unremitting  in 
vestigation  for  several  days,  so  much  preparation  for  argument,  &c., 
&c.,  that  I  have  scarcely  time  to  exchange  a  word  with  my  family  day 
or  night. 

It  must,  at  all  events,  be  a  considerable  time  before  I  could  accom 
plish  the  work  as  I  would;  whereas  you  have  all  the  long  intervals 
between  the  sessions  at  your  command ;  could  do  the  business  at  your 
ease ;  could  make  an  amusement  of  it  to  yourself;  and  from  your  per 
sonal  acquaintance  with  the  heroes  of  the  work,  as  well  as  from  other 
causes  which  are  too  obvious  to  particularize,  could  render  it  infinitely 
more  valuable  and  interesting  to  the  public,  than  all  the  leisure  in  the 
world  would  enable  me  to  do. 

I  wish  you  would  think  seriously  of  this  proposal.  I  am  trying  to 
collect  materials  for  this  work,  which  I  will  most  gladly  communicate 
when  I  receive  them.  Nay,  more ;  if  you  think  proper,  your  name 
shall  be  kept  out  of  the  public  view,  and  they  may  name  me,  without 
contradiction,  as  the  author  (for  there  are  too  many  persons  who  have, 
by  some  means  or  other,  got  wind  of  my  project,  to  suppose  that  it 


124  A  PROPOSAL.  [1804—1805 

may  not,  at  first,  be  imputed  to  me.)  And  when  their  applauses 
become  loud,  general  and  confirmed,  I  will  make  a  public  disclaimer. 
If,  by  any  fatality,  they  should  not  applaud,  I  hereby  promise,  you 
that  I  never  will  disclaim.  There  is  not  much  heroism  in  the  offer, — 
for  I  know,  with  almost  absolute  certainty,  that  the  result  would  be 
propitious.  If  it  should,  or  should  not,  you  will  at  least  have  an  op 
portunity  of  seeing  and  hearing  a  fair  estimate  of  your  pen,  free  from 
the  weight  which  it  would  derive  from  the  name  of  the  Honourable 
St.  George  Tucker,  one  of  the  Judges  of  the  Supreme  Court  of 
Appeals  of  Virginia. 

I  hope  there  is  nothing  improper  in  the  proposal  of  this  experiment. 
On  my  part  it  is,  in  a  very  great  measure,  the  creature  of  curiosity. 
You  say  your  works  have  been  still-born ;  no  solution  of  this  can  be 
found  in  the  works  themselves,  and  I  wish  much  to  see  if  there  be 
any  fatality  attached  to  names.  If  the  proposal  be,  in  any  point  of 
view,  improper,  I  beg  you  to  excuse  it,  and  to  be  assured  that  there 
is  nothing  in  the  motives  of  the  proposal  which  should  excite  your 
displeasure. 

*  •*  #•  -x-  •*  •* 

Yours,  most  obsequiously, 

WM.  WIRT. 

The  next  is  to  Benjamin  Edwards,  then  a  resident  of  Kentucky. 
We  have  already  seen  the  kindly  interest  which  this  excellent  gentle 
man  manifested  in  the  early  fortunes  of  the  subject  of  this  memoir, 
in  taking  him  to  his  own  house  in  Maryland,  and  in  the  parental  soli 
citude  with  which  he  protected  and  guided  the  youthful  student,  at 
a  period  when  such  friendly  offices  were  above  all  price. 

Seventeen  years  had  elapsed  since  that  day.  But  it  will  be  seen 
from  this  letter,  that  the  time  gone  by  had  not  blunted  the  edge  of 
the  student's  gratitude,  nor  dimmed  his  ardent  affection  towards  his 
worthy  patron.  Mr.  Edwards  had,  during  the  interval  between  the 
date  of  this  correspondence  and  the  departure  of  his  protege  from 
beneath  his  roof,  removed  with  his  family  to  Kentucky,  and  was  now 
a  prosperous  landholder  in  that  state,  surrounded  by  a  thriving  family, 
and  happy  in  the  contemplation  of  the  present  and  prospective  good 
fortune  which  enlivened  the  evening  of  his  life. 

The  interest  which  Mr.  Edwards  took  in  the  career  of  his  friend, 
and  the  affection  with  which  it  was  reciprocated,  were  shown  in  a  fre 
quent  correspondence  between  them,  ever  since  the  period  of  their 
separation.  The  following  letter  was  called  forth  by  the  disappoint- 


CHAP.  X.]  LETTER  TO  BENJAMIN  EDWARDS  125 

ment  which  Mr.  Edwards  had  recently  expressed,  upon  the  change 
of  purpose  in  regard  to  "Wirt's  scheme  of  migration  to  Kentucky.  It 
has  reference  to  some  matters  of  personal  history,  which  may  be 
acceptable  to  the  reader  :  and  it  dwells  with  an  honest  warmth  of 
grateful  recollection,  upon  the  topics  of  family  endearment,  the  house 
hold  associations,  the  incidents  and  characteristics  which  made  Mount 
Pleasant  a  precious  picture  on  the  memory  of  the  writer.  We  shall 
not  fail  to  remark,  in  the  perusal  of  this  letter,  how  agreeably  it  im 
presses  us  with  the  benignity  of  the  good  man  to  whom  it  is  addressed, 
the  simplicity  of  his  life,  and  the  patriarchal  character  of  his  relation 
to  those  around  him ;  and  how  much  there  is  in  the  writer  of  filial 
duty  and  reverence. 

TO   BENJAMIN    EDWARDS. 

NORFOLK,  March  17,  1805. 

I  cannot  describe  to  you,  my  dear  Mr.  Edwards,  the  sensations  with 
which  I  have  just  read  your  most  welcome  and  obliging  letter  of  the 
17th  ult.,  from  Shiloh.  I  need  not  be  ashamed  to  tell  you  that  my 
tears  bore  witness  to  the  sincerity  and  force  of  my  feelings.  You  have 
taught  me  to  love  you  like  a  parent.  Well,  indeed,  may  I  do  so ; 
since  to  you,  to  the  influence  of  your  conversation,  your  precepts,  and 
your  example  in  the  most  critical  and  decisive  period  of  my  life,  I 
owe  whatever  of  useful  or  good  there  may  be  in  the  bias  of  my  mind 
and  character.  Continue  then,  I  implore  you,  to  think  of  me  as  a 
son,  and  teach  your  children  to  regard  me  as  a  brother :  they  shall 
find  me  one,  indeed,  if  the  wonder-working  dispensations  of  Provi 
dence  should  ever  place  them  in  want  of  a  brother's  arm,  or  mind,  or 
bosom. 

You  could  not  more  strongly  have  expected  my  wife  and  me  to 
partake  of  your  Christmas  turkey  in  1803,  than  we  ourselves  expected 
it  when  I  wrote  you  last.  I  was  sensible  that  I  owed  you  and  my 
friend  Ninian  an  apology,  or  rather  an  explanation,  of  the  abrupt 
change  of  my  plan  in  relation  to  Kentucky,  and  this  explanation 
would  have  been  certainly  made  at  the  proper  time,  but  for  a  point; 
of  delicacy  arising  from  the  nature  of  the  explanation  itself.  B ut 
now  that  the  project  is  over,  and  with  you,  I  fear,  forever,  I  may 
explain  to  you  without  reserve. 

The  first  obstacle  which  I  had  to  encounter  arose  from  the  difficulty 

of  compassing  so  much  cash  as  would  enable  me  to  make  my  debut 

{sufficiently  respectable.     To  have  disclosed  this  obstacle  either  to  you 

or  Niuian,  after  the  strong  desire  which  I  had  manifested  to  migrate 

11* 


126  PROFESSIONAL   HOPES.  [1804—1305. 

to  your  state,  might  have  been  liable  to  an  interpretation,  which, 
either  from  true  or  false  pride,  I  chose  to  avoid  As  I  could  not  stato 
to  you  this  primary  obstacle,  I  thought  it  would  be  disingenuous  to 
amuse  you  with  an  account  of  merely  subordinate  ones ;  but  now  you 
shall  know  the  whole  truth.  My  wife,  who  was  thoroughly  convinced 
of  the  propriety  of  our  removal  to  Kentucky,  had  consented  to  it, 
from  the  dictates  of  reason  and  judgment,  whilst  her  heart  and  affec 
tions  secretly  revolted  against  the  measure.  Most  dutifully  and  deli 
cately,  however,  she  concealed  her  repugnance  from  me,  and  I  should 
never  have  known  it,  but  for  an  accident.  Waking  one  night,  at 
midnight,  while  this  journey  was  contemplated,  I  found  her  in  tears ; 
and,  after  much  importunity,  drew  from  her  an  acknowledgment  that 
her  distress  proceeded  from  the  idea  of  such  a  distant,  and  most  pro 
bably  final,  separation  from  her  parents  and  family. 

I  will  not  affect  to  deny  that  I  believe  this  discovery  and  the  man 
ner  of  it,  would  have  been  decisive  with  me  against  the  removal,  even 
if  the  first  objection  had  not  existed.  Fortune  and  fame  are,  indeed, 
considerations  of  great  weight  with  me ;  but  they  are  light,  compared 
with  the  happiness  of  the  best  of  wives.  About  the  time  of  this  dis 
covery,  and  while  the  current  of  my  own  inclinations  had  been  thus 
checked  and  brought  to  an  eddy,  a  young  gentleman  (a  son  of  the 
late  Judge  Tazewell)  who  was  at  the  head  of  the  practice  in  this  part 
of  the  state,  very  generously  and  disinterestedly  waited  on  me  at 
Williamsburg,  opposed  my  removal  by  every  argument  that  friendship 
or  ingenuity  could  suggest,  offered  to  recede,  in  my  favour,  from 
several  of  his  most  productive  courts,  painted  the  progressive  prospe 
rity  of  Norfolk  in  colours  so  strong  and  alluring,  and  exhibited  such 
irresistible  evidence  of  the  present  profits  of  the  practice  in  this 
borough  and  district,  that  my  mind  was  left  in  equipoise  between 
Kentucky  and  Norfolk. 

At  this  critical  juncture  came  a  letter  from  you,  in  which  you  very 
amicably  exhorted  me  against  the  indulgence  of  a  too  sanguine  imagi 
nation  in  regard  to  Kentucky.  You  stated  that  the  specie  had  almost 
disappeared  from  the  state,  owing  to  the  occlusion  of  Orleans,  by  the 
Spanish  Intendant  against  your  deposites — an  inconvenience  whose 
duration  it  was  impossible  to  calculate,  and  represented  that  the  gen- 
i  lemen  of  my  profession,  like  the  other  inhabitants  of  the  state,  carried 
on  their  business  by  barter,  receiving  their  fees  in  negroes,  horses,  &c. 
Under  the  joint  action  of  all  these  obstacles,  difficulties,  considerations 
and  motives  of  policy  and  expedience,  I  was  led  to  the  adoption  of 
the  resolution  which  brought  me  here.  And  so  here  I  am,  abreast 
with  the  van  of  the  profession  in  this  quarter,  with  the  brightest 
hopes  and  prospects ;  duping  the  people  by  a  most  Jenkinsonian  ex 
terior,  using  "  words  of  learned  length  and  thundering  sound,"  puffed 
by  the  newspapers  as  an  orator,  to  which  I  have  no  pretensions,  and 
honoured  and  applauded  far  beyond  my  deserts.  It  is  only  for  the 


CHAP.  X.]  FUTURE   PROSPECTS.  127 

humiliation  with  which  I  see  and  hear  what  is  writton  and  said  in  my 
praise,  that  I  give  myself  any  credit.  I  have  formed  in  my  own 
imagination  a  model  of  professional  greatness  which  I  am  far,  very 
far,  below,  but  to  which  I  will  never  cease  to  aspire.  It  is  to  this 
model  that  I  compare  myself,  whenever  the  world  applauds,  and  the 
comparison  humbles  me  to  the  dust.  If  ever  I  should  rise  to  this 
imaginary  prototype,  I  shall  rest  in  peace. — Herculean  enterprise  ! 
But  I  must  not  despair,  since  it  is  only  by  aiming  at  perfection  that 
a  man  can  attain  his  highest  practicable  point. 

If  a  fortune  is  to  be  made  by  the  profession  in  this  country,  I  be 
lieve  I  shall  do  it.  It  must  require,  however,  fifteen  or  twenty  yea1,  s 
to  effect  this.  Norfolk,  as  you  guess,  is  very  expensive.  I  keep,  for 
instance,  a  pair  of  horses  here,  which  cost  me  eight  pounds  per  month. 
"Wood  is  from  four  to  eight  dollars  per  cord ;  Indian  meal,  through 
the  winter,  nine  shillings  per  bushel, — this  summer  it  is  supposed  it 
will  be  fifteen ;  flour  eleven  and  twelve  dollars  per  barrel,  a  leg  of 
mutton  three  dollars,  butter  three  shillings  per  pound,  eggs  two  shil 
lings  and  three  pence  per  dozen,  and  so  on.  Having  set  out,  however, 
with  the  view  of  making  a  provision  for  my  family,  in  the  event  of 
niy  being  called  away  from  them,  I  live  as  economically  as  I  can,  so 
as  to  avoid  giving  my  wife  any  reason  for  regret  at  the  recollection  of 
her  father's  house  and  table.  After  this  year,  I  hope  it  will  be  in 
my  power  to  nett  annually  two  thousand  dollars,  by  the  practice, — 
but  I  do  not  expect  ever  to  do  more  than  this.  I  shall  be  content  to 
leave  the  bar  whenever  my  capital  will  nett  me  an  annual  revenue  of 
four  thousand  dollars,  and  not  till  then. 

I  am  indeed  sometimes  very  apprehensive  that  the  yellow  fever, 
which  you  mention,  may  cut  this  operation  short,  by  removing  me 
from  this  scene  of  things ;  or  protract  it,  by  driving  me  from  my  busi 
ness  into  annual  exile,  as  was  the  case  last  summer  and  fall.  If  1 
find  this  latter  event  likely  to  take  place,  I  shall  certainly  use  all  my 
influence  with  my  wife  to  reconcile  her  to  Kentucky;  for  even  now, 
I  will  not  conceal  it  from  you,  propitious  as  is  the  face  of  my  affairs, 
your  letter  makes  me  sigh  at  the  thought  of  your  state.  It  is  not, 
however,  the  idea  of  being  "  a  comet  in  a  naked  horizon,"  which  I 
long  to  realize.  I  have  seen  too  many  luminaries,  infinitely  my  supe 
riors  in  magnitude  and  splendour,  to  believe  myself  a  comet ;  nor  can 
I  believe  that  horizon  naked  which  is  adorned  and  lighted  up  with  a 
Breckenridge,  a  Brown,  a  Maury  and  N.  Edwards.  Besides,  if  I  were 
ambitious,  and  it  were  true  that  this  part  of  the  hemisphere  were 
gilded  with  the  brightest  stars,  I  should,  for  that  reason,  choose  this 
part.  A  glow-worm  would  be  distinguished  amid  total  darkness ;  but 
it  requires  a  sun  indeed  to  eclipse  the  starry  firmament.  No,  sir.  It 
is  the  Green  River  land  which  makes  me  sigh ;  the  idea  of  being  re 
leased  from  the  toils  of  my  profession  by  independence,  in  six  or  eight 
years,  and  of  pursuing  it  afterwards  at  my  ease,  and  only  on  great 


128  FAiMILY  AFFAIRS.  [1804—1805. 

occasions,  and  for  great  fees ;  of  having  it  in  my  power  to  indulge 
myself  in  the  cultivation  of  general  science ;  of  luxuriating  in  literary 
amusements,  and  seeking  literary  eminence.  Those  are  the  objects 
which  I  have  been  accustomed  to  look  to,  as  the  most  desirable  com 
panions  in  the  meridian  of  life ;  and  six  or  eight  years  more  would 
just  bring  me  to  that  age  at  which  Parson  Hunt  and  his  son  William 
used  to  predict,  in  moments  of  displeasure  and  reproof,  that  I  should 
begin  to  be  a  man, — viz.,  at  forty.  It  is  because  your  letter  holds 
out  probabilities  like  these,  that  I  sigh.  For  I  know  that,  by  the 
practice  of  this  country,  independence  by  my  profession  is  a  great 
way  off. 

How  much  it  would  delight  me  to  live  once  more  within  eye  and 
earshot  of  you  !  To  be  able  to  talk  over  with  you  the  affairs  of  Mount 
Pleasant,  and  of  my  youth ;  to  hear  your  raillery  and  your  laugh ; 
these  are  things  that  I  could  think  of  until  I  should  be  quite  un 
manned  : — but  enough.  My  wife  has  given  me  two  children  in  little 
more  than  two  years.  We  were  married  on  the  7th  September,  1802, 
and  on  the  3d  September,  1803,  she  gave  me  a  daughter,  now  a  lovely 
child,  going  on  nineteen  months  old,  and  with  the  romantic  name  of 
Laura  Henrietta,  the  first  the  favourite  of  Petrarch,  the  last  the  Chris 
tian  name  of  my  mother.  On  the  31st  day  of  last  January  she  gave 
me  a  son,  who  is  certainly  a  very  handsome  child,  and,  if  there  be  any 
truth  in  physiognomy,  a  fellow  whose  native  sheet  of  intellectual  paper 
is  of  as  fine  a  texture  and  as  lustrous  a  white  as  the  fond  heart  even 
of  a  parent  can  desire.  My  fancy  is  already  beginning  to  build  for 
him  some  of  those  airy  tenements,  in  the  erection  of  which  my  youth 
has  been  wasted.  My  wife  wants  to  call  this  boy  Robert  Gamble ; 
and  as  this  is  a  matter  altogether  within  the  lady's  department,  I  shall 
give  way.  She  was  just  twenty-one  the  30th  day  of  last  January,  and 
I  was  thirty-two  the  8th  day  of  last  November ;  so  I  hope  we  may 
reach  my  wished-for  number  of  twelve,  and  be  almost  as  patriarchal, 
by  and  by,  as  yoursolf. 

How  much  you  gratify  me  by  the  circumstantial  description  of  your 
children — their  prosperity  now,  and  their  hopeful  prospects !  May 
all  your  wishes  in  regard  to  them  be  fulfilled  !  I  hope  and  pray  so, 
from  my  inmost  soul !  I  have  a  kind  of  dim  presage  that  I  shall  yet 
be  in  Kentucky,  time  enough  for  your  Benjamin  Franklin,  if  not  for 
Cyrus.  Heaven  send  I  may  ever  have  it  in  my  power  to  be  of  any 
use  to  either  of  your  children  !  Pray  remember  me  to  them  all,  with 
the  regard  of  a  brother,  and  present  me  to  Mrs.  Edwards,  with  the 
respect  and  dutiful  affection  of  a  son.  Shall  I  ever  see  you  again,  in 
the  midst  of  them  on  your  farm,  disengaged  from  all  care,  and  happy 
as  you  deserve  to  be  ?  You  cannot  think  with  what  tenderness  my 
memory  dwells  on  Mount  Pleasant  and  the  neighbourhood.  I  remem 
ber,  indeed,  very  many  follies  to  blush  at  and  be  ashamed  of,  yet  still 
it  is  one  of  those  "  sunny  spots"  in  the  course  of  my  life,  in  which 


CHAP.  X.]  OLD  ACQUAINTANCES.  129 

recollection  dearly  loves  to  bask.  Let  me  be  free  with  you,  for  you 

ui.ed  to  make  me  so.  To  this  day,  the  image  of  B.  S is  ;is  fresh 

in  my  mind  as  if  she  had  just  left  Mount  Pleasant,  on  Sunday  even 
ing,  on  the  bay  mare,  and  my  eyes  had  followed  her  through  the  gate, 
and  as  far  around  as  she  was  visible,  on  her  way  home.  And  the 

investigation  which  you  once  made  of  the  difference  between  K 's 

passion  for  her  and  mine,  is  just  as  vivid  as  if  it  had  passed  on  yester 
day.  By-the-bye,  you  have  not  said  a  word  of  my  friend  K ,  and 

as  I  take  a  very  strong  interest  in  his  welfare,  let  me  hear  of  him 
when  you  write  next. 

I  thank  you  very  much  for  your  mention  of  several  of  my  old 
acquaintances.  Among  them  all,  Jack  Wallace  (if  he  is  the  son  of 
James)  is  my  favourite.  Nature,  indeed,  had  not  taken  much  pains 
in  the  cast  of  his  genius,  but  she  gave  him  one  of  the  sweetest  tem 
pers,  and  one  of  the  finest  and  noblest  hearts  that  ever  warmed  a 
human  breast. 

Major  W ,  I  presume,  is  my  schoolmate,  William,  who  used 

to  live  at  Montgomery  court-house.  When  we  were  at  school  together, 
about  the  year  1785,  he  was  thought  one  of  the  world's  wonders,  or 
rather,  a  new  wonder,  in  point  of  genius.  Where  is  the  hopeful 
promise  of  his  youth  ?  Smothered  under  the  leaden  atmosphere  of 
indolence  ?  Or  has  it  faded,  like  the  first  flower  of  the  spring,  to  bud 
and  bloom  no  more  ? 

*  -x-  •&  *  -x-  * 

Of  Q.  M I  only  remember  that  he  was  a  large-faced,  well-grown 

boy,  who  learnt  the  Latin  grammar  until  he  came  to  penna-a-pen, 
where  he  stuck  fast,  and  his  father  took  him  away  in  despair.  But 
it  is  possible  that  I  may  be  mistaken,  and  am  confounding  him  with 
some  other  boy.  One  other  thing  I  am  sure  of,  that  he  had  a  very 

pretty  sister,  whose  name  was  L ,  with  whom  I  was  very  much 

in  love  one  whole  night,  at  an  exhibition  ball,  in  the  neighbourhood 

of  Parson  Hunt's.     E.  M ,  I  do  not  remember  at  all.     I  could 

not  have  been  acquainted  with  him,  nor,  I  think,  with  M.  L .     I 

well  remember  the  family  of  the  latter,  who  lived  on  a  hill,  near  a 
mill-pond  of  Samuel  W.  Magruder's.  There  were  five  or  six  of  us, 
of  the  family  of  Magruder,  who,  after  bathing  of  a  Sunday  in  the 
pond,  used  to  go  up  and  see  a  sister  of  Matthew's,  whose  name  was 
Betsey  (a  name  always  fatal  to  me).  I  was  then  about  twelve  years 
old,  and  I  remember  that  for  one  whole  summer,  that  girl  disturbed 
my  peace  considerably.  The  sex,  I  believe,  never  had  an  earlier  or 
more  fervent  votary;  but  it  was  all  light  work  till  I  came  to  B. 
S .  To  this  moment  I  think  kindly  of  her,  even  in  the  grave. 

*  *  *  #  *  * 

I  have  used  already  a  good  deal  of  egotism  in  this  letter :  but  it  is 
unavoidable  in  letters  between  friends ;  and  it  certainly  is  not  desirable 
to  avoid  it  between  friends  so  far  sundered  as  we  are;  who  are  obliged 

I 


130  THE  BRITISH  SPY.  [1804—1805. 

to  resort  to  letters  as  a  substitute  for  conversation.  For  my  own  part, 
I  sat  down  with  a  determination  to  write  just  as  I  would  talk  with 
you,  in  order  that  I  might  approach  as  near  as  possible  to  the  enjoy 
ment  of  your  company ;  and,  as  I  should  certainly  have  talked  a  great 
deal  of  levity  and  nonsense,  so  have  I  written,,  and  so  I  shall  still 
write,  although  I  know  that  I  am  taxing  you  with  a  heavy  postage. 

But  to  myself  again.  I  find  you  have  read  the  British  Spy,  and, 
from  your  allusion  to  it,  I  presume  you  have  understood  me  to  be  the 
author.  It  is  true.  I  wrote  those  letters  to  while  away  six  anxious 
weeks  which  preceded  the  birth  of  my  daughter.  In  one  respect  they 
were  imprudent.  They  inflicted  wounds  which  I  did  not  intend. 
*  •*  #  *  *  •* 

In  the  esteem  of  a  penetrating  and  learned  man,  the  British  Spy 
would  injure  me,  because  it  would  lead  him  to  believe  my  mind  light 
and  superficial ;  but  its  effect  on  the  body  of  the  people  here  (on 
whom  I  depend  for  my  fortune)  has,  I  believe,  been  very  advan 
tageous.  It  was  bought  up  with  great  avidity;  a  second  edition 
called  for  and  bought  up ;  and  the  editor,  when  I  saw  him  last,  talked 
of  striking  a  third  edition.  It  has  been  the  means  of  making  me 
extensively  known,  and  known  to  my  advantage,  except,  perhaps, 
with  such  men  as  Jefferson  and  Jay,  whose  just  minds  readily  ascer 
tain  the  difference  between  bullion  and  chaff. 

ife    .'***/'  il 

The  title  of  this  fiction  was  adopted  for  concealment,  that  thereby 
I  might  have  an  opportunity  of  hearing  myself  criticised  without 
restraint.  But  I  was  surprised  to  find  myself  known  after  the  third 
letter  appeared.  Having  once  adopted  the  character  of  an  English 
man,  it  was  necessary  to  support  that  character  throughout,  by 
expressing  only  British  sentiments;  yet,  there  were  some  men  weak 
enough,  in  this  state,  to  suspect,  from  this  single  cause,  that  I  had 
apostatized  from  the  republican  faith.  The  suspicion,  however,  is 
now  pretty  well  over. 

#•  #  %  -x-  * 

I  am  your  friend,  and 

Your  son  by  election, 

WM.  WIRT. 


CHAPTER   XI. 
1805—1806. 

INCREASING  REPUTATION. DISLIKE  OF  CRIMINAL  TRIALS. MEDI 
TATES  A  RETURN  TO  RICHMOND. AN    OLD-FASHIONED  WEDDING 

AT    WILLIAMSBURG. LETTERS. A   DISTASTE    FOR   POLITICAL 

LIFE. 

MR.  WIRT  continued  to  reside  in  Norfolk  until  July,  1806.  His 
life  here  was  one  of  close  application  to  business,  and  his  professional 
career  was  characterised  by  its  rapid  and  steady  progress  upward  to 
wards  the  attainment  of  reputation,  influence,  and  independence.  He 
practised  largely  through  the  district,  extending  his  attendance  upon 
the  courts  as  far  as  Williamsburg,  and  into  the  counties  adjacent  to 
Norfolk.  He  was  already  accounted  one  of  the  most  eloquent  advo 
cates  in  the  state,  and  was  growing  fast  to  be  considered  one  of  the 
ablest  of  her  lawyers.  His  renown  as  an  advocate  brought  him  into 
almost  every  criminal  trial  of  note  within  the  circuit  of  his  practice, 
and  overburdened  him  with  a  species  of  business  sufficiently  disgust 
ing  in  its  best  phase,  but  which,  in  its  varied  demands  upon  a  man  in 
whom  the  mere  pride  of  eloquent  speech  has  not  deadened  the  sen 
sibility  of  his  heart  to  what  is  good  and  bad,  cannot  but  grow  to  be 
inexpressibly  irksome  and  offensive. 

"  I  am  becoming  ill  at  ease/'  he  writes  to  Mrs.  Wirt,  from  Wil 
liamsburg,  during  this  period,  "  at  this  long  absence  from  you  and  my 
children.  *  *  I  look  to  you  as  a  refuge  from  care  and  toil.  It 
is  this  anticipation  only  which  enables  me  to  sustain  the  pressure  of 
employments  so  uncongenial  with  my  spirit:  this  indiscriminate 
defence  of  right  and  wrong  —  this  zealous  advocation  of  causes  at 
which  my  soul  revolts — this  playing  of  the  nurse  to  villains,  and  oc 
cupying  myself  continually  in  cleansing  them — it  is  sickening,  even 
to  death.  But  the  time  will  come  when  I  hope  it  will  be  unne 
cessary." 

(131) 


132  MEDITATES  A  RETURN  TO  RICHMOND.   [1805—1806. 

He  began  to  long  for  the  privilege  of  an  exclusive  devotion  of  his 
time  to  that  higher  range  of  practice  which,  dealing  with  the  more 
complicated  affairs  of  society,  gives  occasion  for  the  employment  of 
the  subtlest  powers  of  intellect,  in  the  study  and  development  of  the 
great  principles  of  right.  In  this  sphere  of  forensic  life,  as  distin 
guished  from  that  which  is  properly  assigned  to  the  advocate,  is  only 
to  be  achieved  that  best  renown  which  has  followed  the  names  of  the 
greatest  lawyers.  It  exacts  not  only  the  cultivation  of  the  highest 
order  of  eloquence,  but  the  study  also  of  the  noblest  topics  of  human 
research,  in  the  nice  questions  of  jurisprudence  and  ethics,  and  finds 
its  most  powerful  auxiliaries  in  the  learning  that  belongs  to  the  his 
tory  and  philosophy  of  man.  Popular  advocacy,  on  the  other  hand, 
whilst  it  allures  its  votary  into  a  path  made  vocal  with  the  applause 
of  the  multitude,  seduces  his  mind  from  its  love  of  truth,  teaches 
him  to  disparage  the  wealth  of  the  best  learning,  and  to  account  the 
triumph  won  in  the  open  amphitheatre  in  the  presence  of  the  crowd, 
as  more  precious  than  all  the  gems  which  are  turned  up  in  the  silent 
delvings  of  the  student  patiently  toiling  with  no  companion  but  his 
lamp. 

In  the  hope  of  soon  obtaining  that  position  at  the  bar  which  should 
enable  him  to  realize  these  longings  of  his  heart,  Wirt  laboured,  with 
cheerful  submission  to  the  present  necessity  which  compelled  him  to 
obey  whatever  call  his  profession  made  upon  him.  He  looked 
anxiously  for  the  day  of  his  return  to  Richmond,  resolved  that  that 
period  should  not  be  long  postponed.  The  usual  unhealthiness  of 
Norfolk  during  the  autumn,  which  was  occasionally  aggravated  by 
the  appearance  of  the  yellow  fever,  forced  him  to  remove  his  family 
during  the  warm  season,  to  Richmond,  or  still  further  towards  the 
mountains,  whilst  he  himself  was  obliged  to  remain  in  the  borough, 
or  make  his  circuits  into  the  neighbouring  counties.  These  separa 
tions  from  his  household  disquieted  him.  Passionately  attached  to 
his  wife  and  children,  it  was  ever  the  engrossing  subject  of  his 
thoughts  to  push  his  professional  success  to  the  point  which  would 
allow  him  to  remain  at  home,  —  and  that  home,  as  he  hoped,  in 
Richmond. 

ft  I  amuse  myself,"  he  says  in  the  same  letter  I  have  last  quoted, 
"  in  planning  fairy  visions  of  futurity  I  imagine  that  we  have  laid 


CHAP.  XL]  ASPIRATIONS.  133 

by  money  enough  to  build  a  house  in  Richmond — that  we  are  living 
there,  and  I  practising  in  the  Superior  Courts,  in  the  van  of  the  pro 
fession,  making  my a  year  without  once  leaving  the  town." 

May  10th,  1805,  he  writes  to  Mrs.  W.,—  "  We  will  go  to  Rich 
mond  to  live  as  soon  as  prudence  will  permit.  But  Norfolk  is  the 
ladder  by  which  we  are  to  climb  the  hills  of  Richmond  advantage 
ously. — Norfolk  is  the  cradle  of  our  fortune." 

Whilst  turning  over  many  letters  written  during  this  year  to  Mrs. 
Wirt,  from  which  I  make  but  meagre  extracts — the  following  passage 
occurs,  which  speaks  an  earnest  and  most  characteristic  aspiration  of 
the  writer. 

*****  "  I  have  been  in 

terrupted  by  Judge  Prentiss,  who  came  into  my  room  to  look  at  the 
miniature  of  Patrick  Henry,  which  has  been  sent  to  me  by  Judge 
Winston,  and  to  read  a  very  interesting  narrative  of  P.  H.,  by  the 
same  gentleman.  Mr.  Winston's  is  a  hundred  times  better  told  than 

either or 's.     The  project  pleases  me  more  and  more,  and 

I  hope  to  be  enabled  to  immortalize  the  memory  of  Henry  and  to  do 
no  discredit  to  my  own  fame.  The  idea  has  been  always  very  dismal 
to  me,  of  dropping  into  the  grave  like  a  stone  into  the  water,  and  let>- 
ting  the  waves  of  Time  close  over  me,  so  as  to  leave  no  trace  of  the 
spot  on  which  I  fall.  For  this  reason,  at  a  very  early  period  of  my 
youth,  I  resolved  to  profit  by  the  words  of  Sallust,  who  advises,  that 
if  a  man  wishes  his  memory  to  live  forever  on  the  earth,  he  must 
either  write  something  worthy  of  being  always  read,  or  do  something 
worthy  of  being  written  and  immortalized  by  history.  Perhaps  it  is 
no  small  degree  of  vanity  to  think  myself  capable  of  either; — but  I 
have  been  always  taught  to  consider  the  passion  for  fame  as  not  only 
innocent,  but  laudable  and  even  noble.  I  mean  that  kind  of  fame 
which  follows  virtuous  and  useful  actions." 

In  the  same  correspondence  I  find  a  letter  from  which  I  take  a  de 
scription  of  a  wedding  at  Williamsburg,  in  April,  1806.  It  is  worth 
preserving  as  a  sketch  of  manners  and  customs  in  the  Old  Dominion 
at  that  date : 

*  *  *  « I  went  last  night  to  Miss  P 's 

wedding.  The  crowd  was  great,  the  room  warm,  the  spirit  of  dan 
cing  was  upon  them,  and  the  area  so  small  that  a  man  could  not  lift 

VOL.  L  — 12 


134  AN  OLD-FASHIONED  WEDDING.  [1805-1806. 

a  foot  without  the  hazard  of  setting  it  down  upon  a  neighbour's.  But 
then,  by  way  of  balancing  the  account,  there  was  a  group  of  very  gay 
and  pretty  girls.  Miss  P.  herself,  never  looked  so  lovely  before. 
She  was  dressed  perfectly  plain,  wore  her  own  hair,  without  wreath, 
laurel  or  other  ornament.  She  had  not  a  flower  nor  an  atom  of  gold 
or  silver  about  her :  there  was  a  neat  pair  of  pearl  pendants  in  her 
ears,  but  without  any  stone  or  metallic  setting.  Her  dress  a  pure 
white  muslin  : — but  she  danced  at  least  a  hundred  reels,  and  the  roses 
in  her  cheeks  were  blown  to  their  fullest  bloom.  You  know  she  is  a 
very  pretty  girl;  but  Sally  C.,  who  was  also  there,  seemed  to  bear 

off  the  bell." 

*  *  ***** 

"  But  to  the  wedding.  I  went  with  the  intention  of  seeing 

my  friends,  merely  peeping  into  the  supper-room,  and  coming  home 
in  an  hour  or  two  at  farthest.  But  I  got  there  about  eight  o'clock, 
and  the  dancing-room  was  so  thronged  as  to  be  impenetrable  without 
an  exeltion  of  strength  which  would  have  been  very  inconvenient  to 
me  in  so  warm  a  room,  and  much  more  inconvenient  to  those  whom  I 
might  overset  in  my  career.  So,  I  watched  the  accidental  opening 
of  avenues,  and  it  was  an  hour  and  a  half,  at  lea-st,  before  I  had  kissed 
the  bride — which,  by-the-bye,  I  did  under  the  pretence  of  delivering 
a  message  from  you — and  made  the  bows  which  were  due  from  me. 
The  enquiries  after  you  and  your  children  were  many  and  apparently 
affectionate. 

"  It  was  past  eleven  when  the  sanctum  sanctorum,  of  the  supper- 
room  was  thrown  open — although  I  don't  know  but  that  the  designa 
tion  of  the  sanctum  would  be  better  applied  to  another  apartment  in 
the  house — and  it  was  near  twelve  when  it  came  to  my  turn  to  see 
the  show.  And  a  very  superb  one  it  was,  I  assure  you.  The  tree  in 
the  centre  cake  was  more  simply  elegant  than  any  thing  of  the  kind 
I  remember  to  have  seen.  It  was  near  four  feet  high :  the  cake  it 
self,  the  pedestal,  had  a  rich — very  rich — fringe  of  white  paper  sur 
rounding  it :  the  leaves,  baskets,  garlands,  &c.,  &c.,  were  all  very 
naturally  done  in  white  paper,  not  touched  with  the  pencil,  and  the 
baskets  were  rarely  ornamented  with  silver  spangles.  At  the  ends 
of  the  tables  were  two  lofty  pyramids  of  jellies,  syllabubs,  ice-creams, 
&c. — the  which  pyramids  were  connected  with  the  tree  in  the  centre 


CHAP.  XL]  LETTER  TO  MR.  EDWARDS.  135 

cake  by  pure  white  paper  chains,  very  prettily  cut,  hanging  in  light 
and  delicate  festoons,  and  ornamented  with  paper  bow-knots.  Between 
the  centre  cake  and  each  pyramid  was  another  large  cake  made 
for  use :  then  there  was  a  profusion  of  meats,  cheese-cakes,  fruits, 
etc.,  etc.  V 

"  But  there  were  two  unnatural  things  at  table ; — a  small  silver 
globe  on  each  side  of  the  tree,  which  might  have  passed — if  Char 
lotte,  to  enhance  their  value,  had  not  told  us  that  they  were  a  fruit — 
whose  name  I  don't  recollect — between  the  size  of  a  shaddock  and 
an  orange,  covered  with  silver  leaf; — which  was  rather  too  outlandish 

for  my  palate.     All  the  grandees  of  the  place  were  there ." 

******* 

The  particularity  and  quaintness  of  this  description  of  a  wedding 
supper  of  more  than  forty  years  ago,  in  low  Virginia,  has  a  smack  in 
it  which  may  remind  one  of  Froissart,  or  some  enraptured  chronicler 
of  a  banquet  scene  of  those  days  when  "ancientry  and  state"  were 
held  in  more  reverence  than  the  present.  The  great  centre  cake  and 
its  white  paper  tree  four  feet  high,  and  the  paper  chains  hanging  in 
delicate  festoons  from  the  topmost  boughs,  all  the  way  over  the  table 
to  the  apexes  of  the  pyramids  of  jellies,  and  the  two  large  cakes  be 
low,  "for  use,"  and  the  silver  globes — a  pleasant  picture  this  of 
home  manufactured  grandeur  of  the  old  time,  when  a  blooming  bride 
danced  "  a  hundred  reels "  on  the  wedding  night,  giving  fresh  bril 
liancy  to  the  roses  of  her  cheek  !  "  Old  times  are  changed,  old  man 
ners  gone," — and  Williamsburg,  doubtless,  has  dismissed  the  great 
paper  tree  and  the  sweet  mould  in  which  it  grew,  for  modern  fopperies. 
We  may  thank  the  young  lawyer  who  has  so  happily  preserved  these 
images. 

We  come  now  to  another  letter  to  the  good  friend  of  his  youth 

TO   BENJAMIN    EDWARDS. 

NORFOLK,  May  6, 1806 
MY  DEAR  SIR  : 

******* 

You  see  I  have  not  gotten  rid  of  my  levities,  and  most  certainly 
I  never  shall  while  I  live ;  they  make  an  essential  part  of  my  con 
stitution.  I  catch  myself,  sometimes,  singing  and  dancing  about  the 


136  VAGARIES.  [1805—1806. 

house  like  a  madman,  to  the  very  great  amusement  of  my  wife  and 
children,  and  probably  of  the  passengers  who  are  accidentally  going 
along  the  street.  This  is  very  little  like  the  wise  conduct  which 
Shakspeare  makes  Henry  IV.  recommend  to  his  son  :  but  the  hare 
brained  find  some  consolation  in  the  figure  which  Henry  V.  made  in 
spite  of  his  father's  maxims  of  gravity.  Yet  I  hope  you  will  not  be 
lieve  that  I  either  sing  or  dance  in  the  street  or  in  the  court-house. 
I  know  the  indispensable  importance  of  a  little  state,  to  draw  the 
magic  circle  of  respect  around  one's  self  and  repel  intrusion  and 
vulgarity. 

*  *  *  *  %  * 

To  be  sure,  in  a  letter,  it  is  not  so  material  if  a  man  cuts  an  eccen 
tric  caper  here  and  there  ]  but  I  feel  the  same  propensity  when  I  am 
arguing  a  cause  before  a  court  and  jury ;  although  I  see  the  track 
plainly  before  me,  yet,  like  an  ill-disciplined  race-horse,  I  am  perpetu 
ally  bolting  or  flying  the  way,  and  this,  too,  perhaps  in  the  very  crisis 
of  the  argument.  After  having  laid  my  premises  to  advantage,  often 
having  gone  through  an  elaborate  deduction  of  principles,  in  the  very 
instant  when  I  am  about  to  reap  the  fruit  of  my  toil,  by  drawing  my 
conclusion,  and  when  everybody  is  on  tiptoe  expectation  of  it,  some 
meteor  springs  up  before  me,  and,  in  spite  of  me,  I  am  off,  like  Com 
modore  Trunnion's  hunter,  when  the  pack  of  hounds  crossed  him  so 
unpropitiously,  just  as  he  was  arriving  at  church  to  seize  the  hand  of 
his  anxious  and  expecting  bride.  I  was  in  conversation  the  other  day 
with  a  very  intimate  friend  of  mine  on  this  subject,  and  was  lamenting 
to  him  this  laxity  of  intellect,  which  I  was  sure  arose  from  the  want 
of  a  well-directed  education.  He  admitted  that  I  had  ascribed  it  to 
its  proper  cause,  but  doubted  whether  it  ought  to  be  lamented  as  a 
defect,  suggesting  that  the  man  in  whose  imagination  these  meteors 
were  always  shooting,  bid  much  fairer  both  for  fame  and  fortune  than 
the  dry  and  rigid  logician,  however  close  and  cogent.  In  reply,  it 
was  but  necessary  for  me  to  appeal  to  examples  before  our  eyes,  to 
disprove  his  suggestion.  One  was  Alexander  Campbell,  whose  voice 
had  all  the  softness  and  melody  of  the  harp ;  whose  mind  was  at  once 
an  orchard  and  a  flower-garden,  loaded  with  the  best  fruits,  and  smil 
ing  in  all  the  many-coloured  bloom  of  spring ;  whose  delivery,  action, 
style  and  manner  were  perfectly  Ciceronian,  and  who,  with  all  these 
advantages,  died  by  his  own  hand. 

On  the  other  hand,  here  is  John  Marshall,  whose  mind  seems  to  be 
little  else  than  a  mountain  of  barren  and  stupendous  rocks,  an  inex 
haustible  quarry,  from  which  he  draws  his  materials  and  builds  his 
fabrics,  rude  and  Gothic,  but  of  such  strength  that  neither  time  nor 
force  can  beat  them  down ;  a  fellow  who  would  not  turn  off  a  single 
step  from  the  right  line  of  his  argument,  though  a  Paradise  should 
rise  to  tempt  him ;  who,  it  appears  to  me,  if  a  flower  were  to  spring 
in  his  mind,  would  strike  it  up  with  his  spade  as  indignantly  as  a 


CHAP.  XI.]  MATHEMATICAL  STUDY.  137 

farmer  would  a  noxious  plant  from  his  meadow ;  yet  who,  all  dry  and 
rigid  as  he  is,  has  acquired  all  the  wealth,  fame  and  honour  that  a 
man  need  to  desire.  There  is  no  theorizing  against  facts  :  Marshall's 
certainly  is  the  true  road  to  solid  and  lasting  reputation  in  courts  .of 
law.  The  habits  of  his  mind  are  directly  those  which  an  accurate  and 
familiar  acquaintance  with  the  mathematics  generates. 

•x-  #  *  *  -*  * 

I  feel  so  sensibly  my  own  deficiencies  in  this  mathematical  study, 
that,  if  Heaven  spares  my  son,  and  enables  me  to  educate  him,  I  will 
qualify  him  to  be  a  professor  in  it,  before  he  shall  know  what  poetry 
and  rhetoric  are.  If  he  turns  out  to  have  fancy  and  imagination,  he 
will  then  be  in  less  danger  of  being  run  away  with  and  unhorsed  by 
them.  If  he  is  for  the  bar,  I  shall  never  cease  to  inculcate  Marshall's 
method,  being  perfectly  persuaded  that  for  courts,  and  especially  su 
perior  and  appellate  courts,  (where  there  are  no  juries,)  it  is  the  only 
true  method.  It  is  true,  that  if  I  had  my  choice,  I  would  much  rather 
have  my  son  (as  to  mind)  a  Mirabeau  than  a  Marshall, — if  such  a 
prodigy,  as  I  have  heard  Mirabeau  described  by  Mr.  Jefferson,  did 
ever  really  exist.  For  he  spoke  of  him  as  uniting  two  distinct  and 
perfect  characters  in  himself,  whenever  he  pleased ; — the  mere  logi 
cian,  with  a  mind  apparently  as  sterile  and  desolate  as  the  sands  of 
Arabia,  but  reasoning  at  such  times  with  an  Herculean  force,  which 
nothing  could  resist ;  at  other  times,  bursting  out  with  a  flood  of  elo 
quence  more  sublime  than  Milton  ever  imputed  to  the  cherubim  and 
seraphim,  and  bearing  all  before  him.  I  can  easily  conceive  that  a 
man  might  have  either  of  these  characters  in  perfection,  or  some  por 
tion  of  each ;  but  that  the  same  mind  should  unite  them  both,  and 
each  in  perfection^  appears  to  me,  considering  the  strong  contrast  in 
their  essence  and  operation,  to  be  indeed  a  prodigy.  Yet  I  suppose  it 
is  true,  "  for  Brutus  is  an  honourable  man." 

*'..-**.••*_;»  J* 

No,  my  dear  friend,  I  shall  certainly  never  become  famous  by  burn 
ing  a  temple,  or  despising  the  religion  of  Christ.  On  these  subjects 
in  the  heat,  vanity  and  ostentation  of  youth,  I  once  thought  and  spoke, 
to  my  shame,  too  loosely.  A  series  of  rescues  from  the  brink  of  ruin, 
to  which,  whenever  left  to  myself,  I  madly  rushed,  convinced  me  that 
there  was  an  invisible,  benevolent  power,  who  was  taking  an  interest 
in  my  preservation.  I  hope  that  ingratitude  is  not  one  of  my  vices. 
The  conviction  which  I  have  just  mentioned,  no  sooner  struck  my 
heart,  than  it  was  filled  with  a  sentiment  which,  I  hope,  will  save  me 
from  the  fate  of  a  Voltaire  and  a  Domitian. 

The  friendly  hope  which  you  express,  that  you  will  live  to  hear  me 
toasted  at  every  political  dinner,  for  superior  virtues  and  wisdom,  is 
indeed  very  obliging,  but  very  unfounded.  You  know  how  poor  I 
have  always  been.  The  rocks  and  shoals  of  poverty  and  bankruptcy 
lie  very  near  to  the  whirlpool  of  dishonour  and  infamy.  Among  these 
19* 


138  MEDITATES  ANOTHER  REMOVAL.         [1805—1806. 

rocks  and  shoals  I  have  been  tossing  and  beating  ever  since  I  entered 
upon  the  world.  The  whirlpool  I  have  escaped,  and,  thank  Heaven, 
feel  myself  now  out  of  danger  :  but  that  horrible  danger  I  shall  never 
forget ;  nor  shall  I  cease  struggling  till  I  place  my  children  out  of  its 
reach.  This  cannot  be  done  if  I  give  myself  up  to  politics.  This 
latter  might  be  the  road  to  distinction,  but  not  to  independence,  either 
for  myself  or  my  children.  When  I  have  placed  my  wife  and  child 
ren  beyond  the  reach  of  this  world's  cold  and  reluctant  charity,  unfeel 
ing  insolence,  or  more  insulting  pity,  then  my  country  shall  have  all 
the  little  service  which  I  am  capable  of  rendering.  But  while  I  have 
opportunities  of  hearing,  seeing  and  reading,  and  making  comparisons 
between  other  men  and  myself,  I  cannot  believe  that  the  little  all  of 
my  services  will  ever  make  me  a  political  toast.  Nor,  indeed,  do  I 
envy  that  distinction  to  any  man ;  for  I  remember  how  Miltiades, 
Aristides,  Cicero,  Demosthenes  and  many  others  were  once  idolized 
by  their  countrymen;  and  I  remember  the  disastrous  proof  which 
their  examples  afforded  of  the  fickleness  of  popular  favour,  and  the 
danger  of  aspiring  to  political  distinctions  even  by  the  exercise  of  vir 
tues.  Yet  I  would  not  shrink  from  their  fate,  if  my  country  required 
the  sacrifice  at  my  hands.  All  I  mean  to  say  is,  that  I  shall  never 
enter  on  the  political  highway  in  quest  of  happiness.  Thank  Heaven  ! 
I  have  it  at  home ; — a  wife,  in  whose  praise,  if  I  were  to  indulge  it, 
my  pen  would  grow  as  wanton  as  Juba's  tongue  in  praise  of  his  Mar- 
cia;  two  cherub  children;  a  revenue  which  puts  us  quite  at  ease 
in  the  article  of  living,  and  the  respect  and  esteem  of  my  acquaint 
ances,  and  I  may  say  of  Virginia.  A  man  who  has  blessings  like 
these  in  possession,  will  not  be  very  wise  to  jeopard  them  all  by 
launching  on  the  stormy  Baltic  of  politics. 

Ever  your  friend  and  servant, 

WM.  WIRT. 

Wirt  had  now  made  up  his  mind  to  remove  to  Richmond.  A 
scheme  which  had  already  taken  such  hold  upon  his  fancy,  required 
no  vehement  enforcement  from  the  advice  of  friends.  His  distrust 
upon  this  question  of  removal,  and  the  suspense  it  had  encountered  in 
his  mind,  seem  to  have  been  effectively  banished  by  the  accidental 
counsel  of  his  friend  Judge  Tucker.  From  William sburg,  whilst  at 
tending  court  there,  April,  1806,  he  writes  thus  to  his  wife : 
*  ***** 

"  Williamsburg  is  just  as  hospitable  and  as  beautiful  as  ever. 
*  *  I  told  the  Judge  (Tucker)  privately,  that  my  friends 

were  pressing  me  to  Jix  myself  in  Richmond.  He  caught  at  it  with 
his  usual  enthusiasm, — insisted  I  should  adopt  the  plan, — swore  that 


CHAP.  XL]  DOUBTS  IN  REGARD  TO  IT.  139 

I  could  not  live  another  year  in  Norfolk, — declared  that  I  had  fattened 
at  least  forty  pounds  since  he  saw  me  in  the  winter,  and  that  I  was  so 
fit  a  subject  for  the  fever,  he  did  n't  know  the  man  on  whose  life  he 
would  not  sooner  buy  an  annuity  than  on  mine ;  said  he  was  sure  I 
should  do  well  at  the  bar  there,  after  a  year  or  two ;  and  that,  even 
for  the  present,  I  might  well  support  my  family  in  Richmond  and  the 
neighbourhood.  I  am  perfectly  confounded  by  the  arguments  pro 
and  con.  I  pray  Heaven  to  assist  me  with  its  counsels.  Think  of 
this  subject  again,  deliberately  and  free  from  bias,  my  dear  B.  You 
shall  decide  it  as  you  please ;  and  whatever  may  be  the  result,  I  shall 
always  believe  you  advised  for  the  best.  *  * 

Do  not  yield  too  much  to  inclination  in  the 

aforesaid  pros  and  cons.  It  is  a  measure  which,  if  resolved  on,  will 
either  ruin  or  make  us  happy ;  and,  in  the  former  event,  it  may  end 
in  Kentucky.  I  confess  that  when  I  bring  the  movement  close  to 
my  mind,  and  imagine  myself  just  about  to  commence  it,  I  am  swayed 
by  doubts  like  those  which  agitate  Hamlet,  when  he  meditates  self- 
destruction  : — he  was  afraid  of  losing  Heaven,  I,  of  an  earthly  Para 
dise.  May  Heaven  guide  us !" 

This  point, — "  whether  it  was  better  to  bear  the  ills"  he  had,  "  or 
fly  to  others"  that  he  knew  not  of, — gave  him,  however,  pause  of  no 
great  duration.  The  auspicious  and  better  counsels  of  Mrs.  Wirt  pre 
vailed.  In  a  few  months  after  this  letter,  he  took  a  house  in  Rich 
mond  upon  a  lease  of  five  years,  and  set  himself  to  the  business  of  his 
removal  with  all  proper  despatch. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

1806. 

EEMOVES  TO  RICHMOND. — A  PROFESSIONAL   CASE   OP   CONSCIENCE. 

DEFENCE    OF    SWINNEY. — CHANCELLOR   WYTHE. JUDGE    CA- 

BELL. LETTER    TO    MRS.    W.    ON    SWINNEY' S    CASE. FONDNESS 

FOR    MUSIC. LETTER   TO    F.  W.    GILMER. RECOLLECTIONS   OF 

PEN   PARK. 

His  dwelling-place  is  now  once  more  in  Richmond.  His  return 
to  the  bar  there  is  signalized  by  a  case  of  conscience,  the  proposing 
of  which  shows  that  he  had  now  reached  that  point  in  his  profession 
in  which,  no  longer  impelled  by  hard  necessity,  he  might  debate  with 
himself  a  question  of  casuistry,  upon  the  merits  of  taking  employment 
in  a  criminal  cause,  wherein  he  had  reason  to  believe  the  criminal 
unworthy  of  defence.  This  is  a  new  era  in  his  forensic  life.  It  is 
an  incident  which  does  not  always  arrive  in  the  career  of  even  eminent 
lawyers.  The  point  has  often  been  a  debated  question.  The  better 
opinion  of  the  bar  seems  generally  to  have  settled  it  on  the  side  of 
their  own  interest ;  much  to  the  gratification  of  culprits,  who,  however 
steeped  in  iniquity,  find  no  lack  of  energetic  and  skilful  defence  from 
the  brightest,  if  not  the  best,  lights  of  the  profession.  A  trial  is  re 
garded  as  a  species  of  tourney,  in  which  the  champions  are  expected 
to  show  their  prowess  —  to  use  a  phrase  of  the  British  Spy — in 
"  forensic  digladiation,"  as  little  concerned  with  the  intrinsic  right  or 
wrong  of  the  accusation,  as  the  knights  of  the  ancient  tilting-yard 
were  with  the  real  merits  of  the  beauty  of  their  respective  mistresses. 
The  laws  of  chivalry  placed  the  true  knight  in  a  category  somewhat 
resembling  that  of  Captain  Absolute.  fc  Zounds,  sirrah,  the  lady 
shall  be  as  ugly  as  I  choose :  she  shall  have  a  hump  on  each  shoulder ; 
she  shall  be  as  crooked  as  the  crescent ;  her  one  eye  shall  roll  like 
the  bull's  in  Coxe's  Museum ;  she  shall  have  a  skin  like  a  mummy, 
and  the  beard  of  a  Jew, — she  shall  be  all  this, — and  you  shall  ogle 

(140) 


CHAP.  XII.]  CHANCELLOR  WYTHE.  141 

her  all  day  and  sit  up  all  night  to  write  sonnets  on  her  beauty." 
The  question  of  conscience  ordinarily  fares  no  better  in  the  courts,  in 
the  customary  tilting  there  in  defence  of  suspected  innocence. 

The  case  which  now  exercised  the  mediation  of  Wirt  was  that  of  a 
man,  by  the  name  of  Swinney,  charged  with  the  crime  of  poisoning 
the  venerable  Chancellor  Wythe,  who  had  just  died  in  Richmond, 
under  circumstances  which  led  to  a  strong  suspicion  of  the  guilt  of 
the  accused.  Chancellor  Wythe  was  one  of  the  best  men  the  country 
ever  produced.  Distinguished  for  the  simplicity  of  his  character,  his 
bland  and  amiable  manners,  his  uprightness  and  steadfast  devotion  to 
duty,  he  was  universally  beloved  in  the  society  of  Richmond. 

I  am  indebted  to  almost  estimable  lady,  the  wife  of  Judge  Cabell, 
of  Richmond,  the  President  of  the  Court  of  Appeals  of  Virginia,*  to 
both  of  whom  frequent  reference  will  be  found  in  these  memoirs,  for 
some  recollections  of  the  Chancellor  which  very  agreeably  confirm 
what  has  been  often  said  of  his  gentle  and  philanthropic  temper ;  and 
which  will  also  afford  melancholy  testimony  as  to  the  foul  deed  which 
is  supposed  to  have  terminated  his  life. 

This  lady,  in  a  letter  to  her  sister,  Mrs.  Wirt,  says : — "  You  and  I 
may  remember  the  trouble  he  gave  himself  to  entertain  the  visiters  of  his 
young  niece,  Miss  Nelson,  who  lived  with  him  a  few  years.  She  and 
all  of  us  were  almost  children,  and  few  grown  men  would  have  found 
any  interest  in  staying  in  the  room  where  we  were.  But  the  good 
old  gentleman  brought  forth  his  philosophical  apparatus  and  amused 
us  by  exhibiting  experiments,  which  we  did  not  well  comprehend,  it 
is  true,  but  he  tried  to  make  us  do  so,  and  we  felt  elevated  by  such 
attentions  from  so  great  a  man. 

*  William  H.  Cabell,  the  gentleman  here  alluded  to,  now  at  the  head  of 
the  Bench  of  Virginia,  crowned  with  the  richest  honours  of  a  ripe  old  age, 
and  surrounded  by  an  affectionate  circle  of  friends,  married  Agnes,  the  eldest 
daughter  of  Col.  Gamble,  and  sister  of  Mrs.  Wirt.  He  represented  Amherst 
county  in  the  Legislature  of  Virginia  from  1795  to  1805,  except  during  three 
years  of  this  interval.  In  1805  he  was  elected  Governor  of  the  State,  and 
at  the  expiration  of  three  years  was  appointed  to  the  Bench  of  the  General 
Court.  He  was  transferred,  in  1811,  to  the  Court  of  Appeals,  of  which  he 
is  at  this  time  (1849)  the  President.  The  connection  between  him  and 
Mr.  Wirt,  laid  the  foundation  of  an  intimate  friendship,  wnich  was  increased 
with  every  succeeding  year  until  death  dissolved  it.  Many  proofs  of  this 
maybe  found  in  the  correspondence  to  which  our  narrative  hereafter  refers. 
In  this  intimacy,  it  will  be  seen  also,  that  Joseph  Cabell,  the  brother  of  the 
Judge,  largely  participated. 


142  DEATH  OF  THE  CHANCELLOR.  [1806. 

"  To  test  the  theory  that  there  was  no  natural  inferiority  of  intellect 
in  the  negro,  compared  with  the  white  man,  he  had  one  of  his  own 
servant  boys  and  one  of  his  nephews  both  educated  exactly  alike.  I 
believe,  however,  that  neither  of  them  did  much  credit  to  their 
teacher. 

"  The  young  men  who  studied  law  with  him,  or  who  were  occupied 
in  his  service,  were  all  devoted  to  him.  Henry  Clay  was  one  of  them. 
The  Chancellor  lived  to  a  very  old  age.  In  his  appearance  he  was 
thin,  rather  tall,  but  stooped  from  age  and  debility,  as  he  walked  to 
and  from  the  Capitol  to  his  own  house.  He  generally  lived  alone, 
but  in  his  latter  years  he  had  a  nephew  with  him  to  whom  he  in 
tended  to  bequeath  his  estate.  This  was  Swinney.  The  common 
belief  was  that  this  man,  being  impatient  for  his  uncle's  money, 
poisoned  him.  He  was  tried  for  his  life.  Mr.  "Wirt  was  his  lawyer, 
and  he  was  acquitted.  Yet  there  was  but  little  doubt  of  his  guilt  in 
the  minds  of  most  persons.  The  cook  said  that  he  came  into  the 
kitchen  and  dropped  something  white  into  the  coffee-pot,  making  some 
excuse  to  her  for  doing  so.  She  and  another  servant  partook  of  the 
coffee.  I  have  heard  that  the  latter  died  in  consequence.  The  coffee- 
grounds  being  thrown  out,  some  fowls  ate  of  them  and  died.  The 
unhappy  old  gentleman  lived  long  enough  after  taking  the  coffee  to 
alter  his  will,  so  that  the  suspected  man  got  no  portion  of  his  estate 
at  last.  The  coffee-grounds  were  examined,  and  arsenic  was  found  in 
abundance  mingled  with  them." 

This  little  sketch  presents  the  outlines  of  the  case,  as  it  was  de 
veloped  at  the  trial  and  in  the  investigations  of  the  day. 

Wirt's  doubts,  to  which  I  have  alluded,  upon  the  propriety  of  en 
gaging  in  the  defence  of  Swinney,  are  told  in  the  following  letter 
written  from  Williamsburg,  after  he  had  engaged  his  house  in  Rich 
mond,  and  in  the  moments  of  his  removal  thither. 


TO  MRS.  WIRT. 

WILLIAMSBURG,  July  13,  1806. 
#  #  #  *  *        '      *  * 

"  I  have  had  an  application  made  to  me  yesterday,  which  embar 
rasses  me  not  a  little,  and  I  wish  your  advice  upon  it.  I  dare  say 
you  have  heard  me  say  that  I  hoped  no  one  would  undertake  the  de- 


CHAP.  XII.]  A  CASE  OF  CONSCIENCE.  143 

fence  of  Swinney,  but  that  he  would  be  left  to  the  fate  which  he 
seemed  so  justly  to  merit.  Judge  Nelson,  himself,  has  changed,  a 
good  deal,  the  course  of  my  opinions  on  this  subject,  by  stating  that 
there  was  a  difference  in  the  opinion  of  the  faculty  in  Richmond  as  to 
the  cause  of  Mr.  Wythe's  death,  and  that  the  eminent  McClurg, 
amongst  others,  had  pronounced  that  his  death  was  caused  simply  by 
bile  and  not  by  poison.  I  had  concluded  that  his  innocence  was  pos 
sible,  and,  therefore,  that  it  would  not  be  so  horrible  a  thing  to  defend 
him  as,  at  first,  I  had  thought  it.  But  I  had  scarcely  made  up  my 
mind  on  this  subject,  little  supposing  that  any  application  would  be 
made  to  me.  Yesterday,  however,  a  Major  A.  M.,  a  very  respectable 
gentleman,  and  an  uncle  to  Swinney  on  the  mother's  side,  came  down 
in  the  stage  from  Richmond,  and  made  that  application  in  a  manner 
which  affected  me  very  sensibly.  He  stated  the  distress  and  distrac 
tion  of  his  sister,  the  mother  of  Swinney ;  said  it  was  the  wish  of  the 
young  man  to  be  defended  by  me,  and  that  if  I  would  undertake  it 
it  would  give  peace  to  his  relations.  What  shall  I  do  ?  If  there  is 
no  moral  or  professional  impropriety  in  it,  I  know  that  it  might  be 
done  in  a  manner  which  would  avert  the  displeasure  of  every  one  front 
me,  and  give  me  a  splendid  debut  in  the  metropolis.  Judge  Nelsoii 
says  I  ought  not  to  hesitate  a  moment  to  do  it;  that  no  one  can  justly 
censure  me  for  it ;  and,  for  his  own  part,  he  thinks  it  highly  proper 
that  the  young  man  should  be  defended.  Being  himself  a  relation 
of  Judge  Wythe's,  and  having  the  most  delicate  sense  of  propriety,  I 
am  disposed  to  confide  very  much  in  his  opinion.  But  I  told  Major 
M.,  I  would  take  time  to  consider  of  it,  and  give  him  an  answer,  at 
the  farthest,  in  a  month.  I  beg  you,  my  dear  B.,  to  consider  this 
subject,  and  collect,  if  you  can  conveniently  in  conversation,  the 
opinions  of  your  parents  and  Cabell,  and  let  me  hear  the  result.  My 
conduct  through  life  is  more  important  to  you  and  your  children  than 
even  to  myself;  for  to  my  own  heart  I  mean  to  stand  justified  by 
doing  nothing  that  I  think  wrong.  But,  for  your  sakes,  I  wish  to  do 
nothing  that  the  world  shall  think  wrong.  I  would  not  have  you  or 
them  subject  to  one  reproach  hereafter  because  of  me." 

****** 

On  such  a  question  as  is  here  proposed — indeed  on  most  questions 
of  conduct  or  duty,  —  the  sensibility  of  an  intelligent  and  virtuous 
woman  is  often  worth  more  than  all  the  dialectics  of  the  most  accom 
plished  casuist,  to  discern  what  it  best  becomes  us  to  do  in  a  matter 
that  touches  our  reputation.  Her  feelings  are  but  the  quick  percep 
tions  of  a  heart  that  reasons  better  than  the  mind.  Guided  by  the 
instinctive  love,  characteristic  of  her  sex,  of  what  is  beautiful,  not 
less  in  moral  than  in  physical  life,  she  lights  upon  her  conclusion 
with  a  rapidity  and  a  truth  which  outstrip  all  argument  in  speed,  and 


144  DEFENCE  OF  SWINNEY.  [1806. 

often,  in  equal  degree,  surpass  it  in  wisdom.  When  this  judgment 
is  stimulated  by  the  affectionate  anxiety  of  a  wife,  it  is  even  less  apt 
to  stray  into  error :  the  very  tenderness  of  her  relation  renders  it  the 
more  impartial. 

How  it  fared  in  regard  to  Swinney's  ease,  is  told  in  a  passage  from 
a  letter  written  within  ten  days  after  the  last.  *  *  * 
"  I  shall  defend  young  Swinney  under  your  counsel.  My  conscience- 
is  perfectly  clear,  from  the  accounts  I  hear  of  the  conflicting  evidence. 
Judge  Nelson  again  repeats,  on  consideration,  the  opinion  he  before 
gave  me  as  to  the  perfect  propriety  of  the  step/' 

Swinney,  as  we  have  seen,  was  tried  and  acquitted.  I  have  no 
record  to  furnish  me  the  grounds  of  this  acquittal,  much  less  to  en 
able  me  to  say  any  thing  of  "  the  splendid  debut"  which  Wirt  an 
ticipated. 

It  is  not  unlikely  that  the  trial  terminated  in  favour  of  the 
accused  from  a  defect  in  the  evidence,  by  no  means  unusual  in  those 
states,  whose  statutory  law  disqualifies  a  witness  from  giving  testi 
mony,  upon  objections  founded  merely  in  the  race  or  blood  of  the 
person  acquainted  with  the  facts.  The  cook  in  this  case,  who  seems 
to  have  been,  perhaps,  the  only  direct  witness,  we  may  conjecture, 
was  a  negro,  and  forbidden  to  be  heard  in  a  court  of  justice.  If  this 
be  the  real  cause  of  the  acquittal,  it  presents  a  very  striking  and 
cogent  example  of  the  impolicy  of  a  law  so  prevalent  in  the  United 
States.  It  may  well  be  questioned,  whether  more  inconvenience  and 
mischief  do  not  result  from  such  legal  restraints  as  disable  our  fami 
liar  servants  from  testifying  to  the  thousand  transactions  in  which  our 
interest  is  concerned,  and  under  circumstances  that  scarcely  admit  of 
other  testimony,  than  can  be  compensated  by  any  supposed  good  which 
may  properly  be  ascribed  to  the  disqualification.  Is  there,  in  fact, 
any  just  ground  of  policy  in  shutting  off  the  only  testimony  by  which 
innocence  may  be  proved,  guilt  established,  or  common  matters  of 
right  determined  ?  Are  not  courts  and  juries  sufficiently  able  to  judge 
of  the  credibility  of  a  witness  in  every  case  ? 

We  pass  from  these  speculations  to  the  regular  course  of  our  nar 
rative. 

Wirt  was  passionately  fond  of  music,  and  devoted  a  portion  of 
liis  time  to  its  cultivation  throughout  every  period  of  his  life.  The 


CFIAP.  XII.]  MUSIC.  145 

following  playful  letter  was  written  to  commend  a  teacher  of  the  art 
to  a  friend  of  his  in  Williamsburg  who  was  at  the  head  of  an  academy 
there. 

TO  LEROY   ANDERSON. 

RICHMOND,  September  25,  1806. 
DEAR  SIR  : 

Your  two  favours  were  received  together,  yesterday.  It  is  well  for 
me  they  were  so;  for  having  no  pretensions  to  poetry,  either  Ossianic 
or  Horatian,  I  should  have  been  very  much  at  a  loss  how  to  answer 
your  first,  if  it  had  come  alone.  I  was  disposed  to  ask  myself  how 
it  was  possible  for  you  to  write  so  fine  a  rhapsody  on  two  such  sub 
jects  as  B and  myself,  until  I  recollected  the  answer  of  the  poet 

Waller  to  Charles  II,  when  asked  why  he  had  produced  so  superior 
an  ode  on  the  death  of  Cromwell,  to  that  in  which  he  had  celebrated 
his  own  restoration?  "because  poetry  excels  in  fiction/'  But  your 
last  has  let  me  down  to  the  tone  of  business,  and  made  me  feel  my 
self  at  home. 

I  know  Vogel,  he  gave  several  lessons  to  Mrs.  Wirt  in  Richmond 
and  in  Norfolk.  I  have  also  frequently  heard  him  play  alone,  and 
can  safely  pronounce  him  the  finest  male  performer  on  the  piano  that 

I  have  ever  heard.  But  like  his  predecessor  B he  is  a  son  of 

Anacreon ; — not  that  his  potations  are  either  so  frequent  or  so  deep 

as  poor  B 's ;  but  the  ladies,  his  scholars  in  Norfolk,  sometimes 

complained  of  neglect,  which  was  attributed  to  frolics  over-night. 
In  Williamsburg  he  will  have  fewer  temptations,  and  I  dare  say  will 
do  better. 

There  is  a  little  fellow  here,  by  the  name  of ,  of  whose  skill  in 

music  the  ladies  and  other  connoisseurs  of  Richmond  speak  very 
highly.  But  he  is  only  about  seventeen,  and  they  tell  me  (for  I  have 
not  seen  him)  a  perfect  Adonis.  I  would  speak  to  him  in  the  man 
ner  you  direct,  but  that  I  remember  a  novel  called  "  Miss  Beverly/' 
which  I  read  when  a  boy.  She  is  represented  as  the  daughter  of  re 
spectable  parents,  who,  at  the  budding  age,  had  a  young  beau  intro 
duced  into  the  house  as  her  music-master.  Her  fancy  was  set  agog 
by  him,  and  never  rested  afterwards.  This  to  be  sure  is  fiction,  but 

it  is  in  nature ;  and  I  should  apprehend  that  such  a  fellow  as is 

said  to  be,  might  put  to  flight  the 

"  Quips  and  cranks  and  playful  wiles 
Nods  and  becks  and  wreathed  smiles1' 

of  your  academy,  and  introduce  the  sigh  and  tear  of  midnight  in  their 
place.  Nevertheless,  if  you  say  so,  instruct  me,  and  I  will  speak  to 
him. 

VOL.  I.  — 13  K 


146  FRANCIS  W.  G1LMER.  \180G. 

On  further  recollection,  there  is,  I  think,  a  Mrs.  C here,  who 

also  teaches  music.  I  will  know  with  certainty  before  next  week, 
and  whether  she  will  be  willing  to  remove  to  Williamsburg,  on  the 
terms  you  propose.  Her  answer  I  will  deliver  in  person,  and  you 
may  choose  between  her  and  Vogel. 

Poor  B !  I  am  really  sorry  for  him,  for  he  was  a  harmless 

being,  with  as  gentle  a  soul  as  any  man  ever  had.  But  I  dare  say 
"  death  came  like  a  friend  to  release  him  from  pain."  In  the  Elysian 
shades  he  may  rove  and  feast  on  harmony  among  spirits  as  gentle  as 
his  own,  unmolested  by  any  painful  remembrance  of  home  and  the 
discordant  shrieks  of  his  Alccto.  Suppose  you  give  him  an  epitaph 
or  a  monody. 

I  am  much  obliged  to  you  for  the  concern  which  you  express  for 
my  health.  It  was  a  slight  touch  of  the  ague  and  fever  :  a  mere 
piece  of  ceremony  by  way  of  conferring  on  me  the  freedom  of  the  city. 
It  is  entirely  over. 

With  the  best  wishes  for  your  prosperity  and  happiness, 
I  am,  dear  sir, 

Your  friend  and  servant, 

WM.  WIRT. 

Francis  Walker  Gilmer,  whom  we  have  heretofore  noticed,  was 
now  approaching  to  manhood.  He  had  resolved  to  devote  his  studies 
to  the  science  of  medicine,  and  had  partially  entered  upon  that  pur 
suit.  It  will  be  seen  hereafter  that  he  found  reason,  at  a  later  period 
of  his  life,  to  change  this  profession  for  the  law,  in  which  he  gave  the 
strongest  promise  of  eminent  success.  Mr.  Wirt  had  not  so  far 
alienated  himself  from  the  memory  and  attachments  of  Pen  Park  as 
to  lose  his  interest  in  the  family  which  yet  inhabited  there.  Death 
had  made  his  usual  ravages  in  the  family  circle,  but  the  heart  of  him 
who  had  been  so  tenderly  fostered  under  that  roof,  lost  nothing  of  its 
original  reverence  for  those  who  were  departed,  nor  of  its  kind  solici 
tude  for  the  welfare  of  those  who  survived.  This  interest  was  che 
rished  on  both  sides  by  frequent  correspondence,  but  more  particularly 
by  that  with  Francis,  who  had  grown  to  be  an  especial  favourite  with 
his  brother-in-law.  In  this  letter  we  get  some  agreeable  glimpses  of 
Pen  Park  and  its  inmates. 

TO    FRANCIS    W.    GILMER. 

RICHMOND,  October  9th,  18(H>. 
MY  DKAK  FRANCIS  : 

Your  favour  of  the  4th  ult.  came  regularly  to  hand,  and  gave  me 
all  the  pleasure  you  wished  and  intended.  It  has  been  lying  ever 


CHAP.  XII.]  DOCTOR   G1LMER.  147 

rince,  in  the  drawer  of  my  writing-chair,  waiting  for  an  interval  of 
leisure  to  answer  it.  I  am  sure  I  need  not  tell  you  what  a  source  of 
delight  it  is  to  me,  to  receive  these  assurances  that  my  brothers  and 
sisters  of  Albemarle  still  regard  me  as  one  of  the  same  family,  although 
sundered  from  them  by  my  destiny.  The  misfortunes  of  Pen  Park 
have,  indeed,  scattered  us  all  most  wofully,  and  placed  us  in  every 
variety  of  circumstances  and  situation.  Let  it  be  the  object  of  the 
survivors  to  soften  these  misfortunes  and  their  consequences,  as  well 
as  they  can,  by  cherishing  for  each  other  the  most  cordial  affection, 
and  reciprocally  plucking  from  the  path  of  life  each  thorn  of  care  and 
sorrow  as  we  go  along.  You,  my  dear  Francis,  and  your  brothers, 
will  have  a  farther,  and,  if  possible,  a  still  sweeter  office  to  perform. 
To  raise  the  name  of  Gilmer  from  the  tomb,  and  crown  it  with  fresh 
honours.  I  have  seen  that  name  honoured,  and  highly  honoured,  for 
genius,  science,  and  virtue.  The  recollection  is  very  dear  to  my  heart. 
For  what  is  lost,  I  console  myself  with  the  hope  that  I  shall  live  to 
see  the  day,  when  the  family  will  rise  to  all  its  former  reputation  for 
superior  endowments,  both  of  the  mind  and  heart ;  and  even  bloom 
with  more  extended  and  diversified  honours.  The  genius  of  the 
family  is  not  lost.  I  am  charmed  to  see  it  inherited  in  such  abun 
dance,  and  I  cannot  believe  that  its  inheritors  will,  for  want  of  energy 
and  enterprise,  fail  to  replace  it  on  the  roll  of  fame. 

Peachy,  I  hear,  is  contributing  his  quota  towards  its  restoration, 
by  making  very  strenuous  and  successful  exertions  in  Henry  county. 
He  has  a  good  deal  of  his  father's  cast  of  character,  and,  among  other 
qualities,  will,  I  think,  possess  the  same  manly  and  impressive  elo 
quence  for  which  he  was  remarkable.  The  bar  will  afford  him  a  field 
for  its  display  which  his  father  had  not.  And  therefore,  if  his  exer 
tions  continue,  he  cannot  fail  to  enlarge  the  sphere  of  the  family  dis 
tinction  on  this  head.  You,  I  understand,  purpose  to  follow  your 
father's  profession.  The  science  of  medicine  is,  I  believe,  said  to  be 
progressive,  and  to  be  daily  receiving  new  improvements.  You  will 
therefore  have  a  wide  field  to  cultivate,  and  will  take  the  profession 
on  a  grander  scale.  It  will  be  your  own  fault,  therefore,  if  you  4p 
not,  as  a  physician,  fill  a  larger  space  in  the  public  eye.  But  the 
space  which  your  father  occupied  was  filled  not  merely  by  his  emi 
nence  as  a  physician,  (although  he  was  certainly  among  the  most 
eminent) ;  he  was,  moreover,  a  good  linguist,  a  master  of  botan}^  and 
the  chemistry  of  his  day,  had  a  store  of  very  correct  general  science, 
was  a  man  of  superior  taste  in  the  fine  arts,  and,  to  crown  the  whole, 
had  an  elevated  and  a  noble  spirit.  In  his  manners  and  conversation 
he  was  a  most  accomplished  gentleman;  easy  and  graceful  in  his 
movements,  eloquent  in  speech ;  in  temper,  gay  and  animated,  and 
inspiring  every  company  with  his  own  tone ;  with  wit  pure,  sparkling, 
and  perennial ;  and  when  the  occasion  called  for  it,  uttering  senti 
ments  of  the  highest  dignity,  and  utmost  force.  Such  was  your  father, 


148  ADMONITIONS.  [1806. 

before  disease  had  sapped  his  mind  and  constitution,  and  such  the 
model  which,  as  your  brother,  I  would  wish  you  to  adopt.  It  will  be 
a  model  much  more  easy  for  you  to  form  yourself  on,  than  any  other, 
because  it  will  be  natural  to  you ;  for,  I  well  remember  to  have  re 
marked,  when  you  were  scarcely  four  years  old,  how  strongly  nature 
had  given  you  the  cast  of  your  father's  character.  If  he  had  lived 
and  enjoyed  his  health  until  you  had  grown  to  manhood,  you  would 
have  been  his  exact  counterpart.  All  that  you  can  do  now  is,  to  form 
to  yourself  by  the  descriptions  of  others,  an  exact  image  of  your 
father  in  his  meridian,  and  even,  if  possible,  to  surpass  him. 

Endeavour  to  cultivate  that  superior  grace  of  manners  which  dis 
tinguishes  the  gentleman  from  the  crowd  around  him.  In  your  con 
versation,  avoid  a  rapid  and  indistinct  utterance,  and  speak  delibe 
rately  and  articulately.  Your  father  was  remarkable  for  his  clear  and 
distinct  enunciation,  and  the  judgment  with  which  he  placed  his  em 
phasis.  Blend  with  the  natural  hilarity  of  your  temper,  that  dignity 
of  sentiment  and  demeanour,  which  alone  can  prevent  the  wit  and 
humourist  from  sinking  into  a  trifler,  and  can  give  him  an  effective 
attitude  in  society. 

Get  a  habit,  a  passion  for  reading,  not  flying  from  book  to  book, 
with  the  squeamish  caprice  of  a  literary  epicure,  but  according  to  the 
course  which  Mr.  Robertson  will  prescribe  to  you.  Read  sys 
tematically,  closely,  and  thoughtfully ;  analyzing  every  subject  as  you 
go  along,  and  laying  it  up  carefully  and  safely  in  your  memory.  It 
could  have  been  only  by  this  mode  that  your  father  gained  so  much 
correct  information  on  such  a  variety  of  subjects.  Determine  with 
yourself  that  no  application,  shall  be  wanting  to  lift  you  to  the  heights 
of  public  notice;  and,  if  you,iind  your  spirits  and  attention  beginning 
to  flag,  think  of  being1  buried  all  your  life  in  obscurity,  confounded 
with  the  gross  and  ignorant  herd  around  you.  But  there  are  yet 
more  animating  and  more  noble  motives  for  this  emulation;  the 
power  of  doing  more  extensive  good,  by  gaining  a  larger  theatre  and 
increasing  the  number  of  objects;  the  pure  delight  of  hearing  one's 
self  blessed  for  benevolent  and  virtuous  actions ;  and,  as  a  still  more 
unequivocal  and  rapturous  proof  of  gratitude,  "  reading  that  blessing 
in  a  nation's  eyes:"  add  to  this,  the  communicating  the  beneficial 
effects  of  this  fame  to  our  friends  and  relations ;  the  having  it  in  our 
power  to  reqtdte  past  favours,  and  to  take  humble  and  indigent  genius 
by  the^hand,  And  lead  it  forward  to  the  notice  of  the  world.  These 
are  a  few,  and  but  a  few,  of  the  good  effects  of  improving  one's  talents 
to  the  highest  point  by  careful  and  constant  study,  and  aspiring  to 
distinction. 

I  am  very  much  pleased  with  your  letter.  You  read  the  classics 
with  a  discrimination  of  taste  and  judgment  unusual  at  your  years, 
and  therefore  the  more  honourable  to  you.  I  concur  with  you  in 
your  remarks  upon  the  JEtmid  of  Virgil  as  well  as  the  Odes  of 


CHAP.  XIII.]  JJURR'H  CONSPIRACY.  149 

Anacreon.  I  am  fond  of  a  vivid  picture,  painted  to  the  fancy,  such 
as  Virgil's  storm.  Anacreon,  too,  is  thought  a  good  describer,  in  his 
way;  but  his  way  is  a  very  bad  one,  and  his  odes  can  be  estimated 
and  enjoyed  only  by  the  debauchee  who  has  himself  rolled  in  the 
sensualities  on  which  alone  the  genius  of  Anacreon  seems  to  have 
luxuriated.  I  hope  you  will  never  possess  this  test  for  judging  his 
merit.  You  will  gratify  me  by  writing  to  me  often,  and  if  you  will 
allow  me  to  write  to  you  like  an  elder  brother,  who  would  wish  you 
to  profit  by  his  own  experience,  and  to  attain  all  those  honours  which 
he  has  missed,  you  shall  hear  from  me  as  often  as  I  can  find  a  leisure 
hour.  My  love  to  our  brothers  and  sisters  when  you  see  them.  Let 
me  be  remembered  to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Meriwether  and  Mr.  R.  Robert 
son  ;  all  of  whom  I  very  much  esteem. 

Your  friend  and  brother, 

WM.  WIRT. 


•it 
CHAPTER  XIII. 

1807. 

AARON  BURR  BROUGHT  TO  RICHMOND. — INDICTED  FOR  TREASON. — 

WIRT    RETAINED    AS     COUNSEL    BY    THE     GOVERNMENT. THE 

TRIAL. SOME    OF   ITS    INCIDENTS. THE  ASPERITY    OF    COUN 
SEL. — EXTRACTS  OF  THE  ARGUMENT. 

THE  year  1807  is  memorable  in  the  life  of  Wirt  as  the  year  of  the 
trial  of  Aaron  Burr. 

Burr's  conspiracy  is  one  of  the  most  extraordinary  incidents  con 
nected  with  the  history  of  this  country.  Whether  it  were  the  mere 
dream  of  a  bold,  ambitious  and  wicked  citizen,  or  his  meditated  and 
prepared  enterprise,  enough  has  been  brought  to  light,  in  the  investi 
gation  of  that  incident,  to  excite  the  amazement  of  every  one,  that  a 
man  so  eminent,  so  gifted  with  splendid  talents,  and  so  able  to  appre 
ciate  the  character  and  temper  of  the  American  people,  should  have 
permitted  himself  to  fall  into  the  infatuation  of  even  an  idle  specu 
lation  upon  his  power  to  accomplish  what,  from  all  the  evidence 
which  has  been  divulged,  we  are  hardly  at  liberty  to  disbelieve  was 
his  purpose. 


150  BURR'S  CONSPIRACY.  [!807. 

It  seems  certain  that  Burr  entertained  some  visionary  notion  of  his 
ability  to  produce  a  revolution  in  the  government  at  the  Capital  ]  that 
he  talked  familiarly  of  expelling  the  President;  and,  with  no  more 
than  "the  Marine  Corps"  at  "Washington,  of  driving,  if  need  were, 
the  Congress  "  into  the  Potomac."  That  he  abandoned  this  project 
for  one  which  he  supposed  more  practicable — the  separation  of  the 
Union  and  the  erection  of  a  Western  Confederacy  beyond  the  Alle- 
gany.  That  finding  this,  upon  more  mature  reflection,  somewhat  too 
arduous  for  his  means,  he  finally  sought  the  gratification  of  his  restless 
and  too  prurient  desire  of  fame,  in  a  scheme  to  invade  Mexico  and 
make  himself  master  of  those  fair  domains. 

The  ill-will  engendered,  particularly  throughout  the  Southern 
States,  against  Spain,  by  her  offensive  policy  in  regard  to  the  navi 
gation  of  the  Mississippi,  and  her  still  more  offensive  proceedings 
afterwards,  and  the  constant  expectation  of  a  collision  with  that 
power,  furnished  a  basis  for  this  scheme  of  Burr's,  which  gave  it  a 
substantial  aspect,  and  brought  it  within  the  category  of  things  of 
probable  accomplishment.  The  other  schemes  were  but  the  madness 
of  the  moon,  in  comparison. 

Mr.  Jefferson  had,  with  most  commendable  caution  and  address, 
though  not  without  great  difficulty,  restrained  the  exasperated  spirit 
of  our  people  from  an  assault  upon  the  Spanish  provinces  beyond  the 
Mississippi ; — an  assault  which  would,  at  that  day,  have  anticipated 
the  brilliant  achievements  which  have  recently  placed  an  American 
army  in  the  ancient  city  of  Mexico.  Then,  as  now,  it  would  only 
have  been  necessary  for  the  government  to  give  permission  to  the 
thousands  and  tens  of  thousands  who  find  in  war  a  pastime  and  a 
profit,  to  have  overrun  Mexico  with  the  force  of  a  torrent. 

"  No  better  proof,"  says  Mr.  Jefferson,  in  a  letter  to  Mr.  Bowdoin, 
"  of  the  good  faith  of  the  United  States  could  have  been  given,  than 
the  vigour  with  which  we  have  acted,  and  the  expense  incurred,  in 
suppressing  the  enterprise  meditated  lately  by  Burr  against  Mexico. 
Although,  at  first,  he  proposed  a  separation  of  the  Western  country, 
and  on  that  ground  received  encouragement  and  aid  from  Yrujo, 
according  to  the  usual  spirit  of  his  government  towards  us,  yet  he 
very  early  saw  that  the  fidelity  of  the  Western  country  was  not  to  be 
shaken,  and  turned  himself  wholly  towards  Mexico.  And  so  popular 


CHAP.  XIII.]  HIS  ARREST.  151 

is  an  enterprise  on  that  country  in  this,  that  we  had  only  to  lie  still, 
and  lie  would  have  had  followers  enough  to  have  been  in  the  city  of 
Mexico  in  six  weeks." 

In  a  letter,  afterwards,  to  La  Fayette,  he  remarked,  "  nothing  has 
ever  so  strongly  proved  the  innate  force  of  our  form  of  government 
as  this  conspiracy.  Burr  had  probably  engaged  one  thousand  men  to 
follow  his  fortunes,  without  letting  them  know  his  projects,  otherwise 
than  by  assuring  them  the  government  approved  of  them.  The  mo 
ment  a  proclamation  was  issued,  undeceiving  them,  he  found  himself 
left  with  about  thirty  desperadoes  only.  The  people  rose  in  mass 
wherever  he  was,  or  was  suspected  to  be,  and,  by  their  own  energy, 
the  thing  was  crushed  in  one  instant,  without  its  having  been  neces 
sary  to  employ  a  man  of  the  military,  but  to  take  care  of  their  respec 
tive  stations.  His  first  enterprise  was  to  have  been  to  seize  New 
Orleans,  which  he  supposed  would  powerfully  bridle  the  upper 
country,  and  place  him  at  the  door  of  Mexico.  It  is  with  pleasure  I 
inform  you  that  not  a  single  native  Creole,  and  but  one  American, 
of  those  settled  there  before  we  received  the  place,  took  any  part  with 
him.  His  partisans  were  the  new  emigrants  from  the  United  States 
and  elsewhere,  fugitives  from  justice  or  debt,  and  adventurers  and 
speculators  of  all  descriptions." 

Burr  had  been  arrested  in  January,  on  the  Mississippi ;  had  been 
subjected  to  an  examination  at  Washington,  in  Mississippi  Territory, 
and  detained  in  custody  to  be  sent  to  the  capital  of  the  United  States. 
He  had  escaped  from  this  custody,  and  was  soon  afterwards  arrested 
near  Fort  Stoddard  on  the  Tombigbee,  making  his  way  to  Mobile. 
Upon  this  he  was  conducted  to  Richmond,  to  be  tried  on  a  charge  of 
high  treason.  He  arrived  here  on  the  26th  of  March.  Wirt  was 
then  in  Williamsburg.  A  letter  from  him  to  his  wife,  on  the  20th, 
alludes  to  the  fact  of  Burr's  expected  trial. 

"  Your  letter  gave  me  the  first  tidings  of  the  apprehension  of  Burr, 
and  his  being  sent  to  Richmond.  This  was  news  indeed.  Since  I 
came  here  this  evening,  I  understand  he  arrived  in  Richmond  on 
Thursday  night,  in  the  same  disguise  in  which  he  was  apprehended ; 
and,  farther,  that  he  has  engaged  Randolph  and  Wickham  in  his  de 
fence.  I  should  not  be  much  surprised  if  he  is  discharged  on  a  peti 
tion  to  the  judge,  or  let  to  bail,  and  make  his  escape  again.  If  the 


152  PUT  UPON  HIS  TRIAL.  [1807. 

inau  is  really  innocent,  these  persecutions  will  put  the  devil  in  his 
head,  unless  he  is  more  than  man  in  magnanimity." 

The  primary  examination  of  the  prisoner  was  made  before  Chief 
Justice  Marshall,  on  the  30th  and  31st  of  March.  This  was  con 
ducted  by  Caesar  A.  Rodney,  the  Attorney-General  of  the  United 
States,  and  George  Hay,  the  Attorney  for  the  District  of  Virginia; 
Messrs.  Wickham  and  Randolph  appearing  for  Burr.  The  result 
was,  a  commitment  upon  the  charge  of  a  misdemeanour  in  setting  on 
foot  a  military  expedition  against  the  dominions  of  the  King  of 
Spain, — the  court  refusing  to  include  in  the  commitment  the  charge 
of  treason  which  had  been  urged  by  the  counsel  for  the  United 
States. 

Colonel  Burr  was  in  consequence  admitted  to  bail  upon  a  recog 
nizance  to  appear  in  the  Circuit  Court  at  its  next  term  on  the  22d  of 
May. 

The  case  was  again  taken  up  at  the  appointed  day,  the  Chief  Jus 
tice  and  Judge  Griffin  presiding  in  the  court.  Colonel  Burr  now 
appeared  with  two  additional  counsel,  Messrs.  Botts  and  Baker.  On 
the  part  of  the  prosecution,  Mr.  Rodney  having  withdrawn,  Mr.  Hay 
was  assisted  by  Mr.  Wirt  and  Mr.  MacRae. 

A  grand  jury,  consisting  of  some  of  the  most  eminent  citizens  of 
Virginia,  with  John  Randolph  of  Roanoke,  as  the  foreman,  was  sworn 
on  that  day.  After  several  adjournments  and  many  protracted  dis 
cussions  between  the  counsel,  upon  the  nature  of  the  evidence  to  be 
submitted  to  them,  and  on  other  collateral  topics,  the  grand  jury 
finally,  on  the  24th  of  June,  brought  in  indictments,  both  for  treason 
and  misdemeanour,  against  Aaron  Burr  and  Herman  Blennerhasset, 
which  were  followed,  in  two  days,  by  similar  indictments  against 
Jonathan  Dayton,  John  Smith,  Comfort  Tyler,  Israel  Smith  and 
Davis  Floyd. 

Colonel  Burr,  on  the  same  day  that  these  last  indictments  were 
presented,  pleaded  not  guilty,  and  the  trial  was  postponed  until  the 
3d  of  August. 

Without  saying  more,  at  present,  as  to  the  incidents  of  the  trial, 
or  making  any  reference  to  the  facts  brought  into  proof,  or  the  points 
of  law  discussed,  it  will  be  sufficient  to  note  that  a  most  elaborate 
and  profound  opinion  was  delivered  by  the  Chief  Justice,  which  ex- 


CHAP.  XIII.]  HIS  REFLECTIONS  UPON  IT.  153 

eluded  from  the  case,  as  it  was  affirmed,  a  large  amount  of  testimony 
which  might  have  shown  Burr's  intentions,  and  thus,  on  the  1st  of 
September,  put  an  end  to  the  trial  on  the  indictment  for  treason.  The 
verdict  was  :  "  We  of  the  jury  say  that  Aaron  Burr  is  not  proved  to 
be  guilty  under  this  indictment,  by  any  evidence  submitted  to  us. 
We  therefore  find  him  not  guilty/' 

The  indictment  for  the  misdemeanour,  met  the  same  fate.  The 
opinion  of  the  court,  in  that  case,  excluded  the  testimony  relied  on, 
and  the  jury  again  found  a  verdict  of  not  guilty. 

Upon  this,  the  traverser  was  committed  and  held  to  bail,  to  answer 
in  Ohio,  on  the  charge  of  setting  on  foot  and  providing  the  means  for 
a  military  expedition  against  the  territories  of  Spain. 

In  a  letter  of  Colonel  Burr's,  to  his  daughter,  dated  October  23, 
1807,  we  find  the  following  notice  of  the  event : 

11  After  all,  this  is  a  drawn  battle.  The  Chief  Justice  gave  his 
opinion  on  Tuesday.  After  declaring  that  there  were  no  grounds  of 
suspicion,  as  to  the  treason,  ha  directed  that  Burr  and  Blennerhasset 
should  give  bail  in  three  thousand  dollars,  for  further  trial  in  Ohio. 
The  opinion  was  a  matter  of  regret  and  surprise  to  the  friends  of  the 
Chief  Justice,  and  of  ridicule  to  his  enemies, — all  believing  that  it 
was  a  sacrifice  of  principle  to  conciliate  Jack  Cade.  Mr.  Hay  im 
mediately  said  that  he  should  advise  the  government  to  desist  from  fur 
ther  prosecution.  That  he  has  actually  so  advised,  there  is  no  doubt." 

The  conduct  of  Burr,  throughout  the  trial,  was  in  keeping  with  this 
insinuation  against  the  firmness  and  integrity  of  Chief  Justice  Mar 
shall.  There  is  apparent,  in  his  demeanour,  during  the  trial  and 
before  it,  an  affectation  of  innocence,  which,  under  the  circumstances, 
a1  most  partakes  of  insolent  defiance,  and  which  very  significantly 
accords  with  the  bold  and  confident  character  of  his  whole  scheme, 
lie  seems  to  have  regarded  his  enterprise  almost  as  an  act  of  benefi 
cence  to  the  country,  and  the  attempt  to  arrest  it,  as  somewhat  in  the 
light  of  insult  and  persecution.  "  You  have  read  to  very  little  pur 
pose,"  he  says,  in  a  letter  to  his  daughter,  during  the  pendency  of  the 
trial,  "  if  you  have  not  remarked  that  such  things  happen  in  all  demo 
cratic  governments.  Was  there  in  Greece  or  Rome,  a  man  of  virtue 
and  independence,  and  supposed  to  possess  great  talents,  who  was  not 
the  object  of  vindictive  and  unrelenting  persecution?" 


154  INCIDENTS   OF   THE   TRIAL.  [1807. 

And  again, 

"  I  want  an  independent  and  discerning  witness  to  my  conduct,  and 
to  that  of  the  government.  The  scenes  which  have  passed,  and  those 
about  to  be  transacted,  will  exceed  all  reasonable  credibility,  and  will 
hereafter  be  deemed  fables,  unless  attested  by  very  high  authority." 

These  are  curious  revelations  of  feeling,  in  contrast  with  the  facts 
divulged  upon  the  trial.  Judge  Marshall,  —  whose  opinions  in  this 
case  were,  like  all  the  other  exhibitions  of  his  judicial  character, 
fraught  with  the  calm  and  impartial  spirit  of  justice  itself,  and  distin 
guished  for  their  legal  shrewdness  and  depth, — did  not  escape  some 
animadversions  from  the  side  of  the  government,  as  well  as  this  of  the 
prisoner ;  but  the  country  has  not  failed  to  render  full  honour  to  the 
purity,  as  well  as  the  wisdom,  of  the  mind  which  guided  the  issues  of 
this  celebrated  trial. 

We  come  now  to  present  some  of  the  leading  features  of  the  case, 
so  far  as  Wirt's  participation  in  it  may  be  of  interest.  In  doing  this 
I  shall  make  a  few  extracts  from  his  speeches,  by  no  means  designing 
to  fatigue  the  reader  with  a  detail  either  of  the  facts  or  the  law  of  the 
case,  which,  indeed,  may  only  be  properly  understood  by  a  reference 
to  the  trial  itself.  But  as  Wirt  obtained  by  his  labours  in  this  trial 
a  large  increase  of  popularity,  both  at  the  bar  and  with  the  country, 
it  will  not  be  considered  as  inappropriate  to  the  subject  before  us,  to 
cull  from  the  report  of  it  such  passages  or  incidents  as  may  be  char 
acteristic  of  the  counsel  whose  name  has  become  so  favourably  con 
nected  with  it. 

The  trial  was  remarkable  for  the  asperity  with  which  it  was  con 
ducted  on  both  sides.  Almost  in  the  first  stage  of  its  progress,  the 
court  was  obliged  to  comment  upon  the  temper  displayed  by  counsel. 

An  application  was  made  by  Col.  Burr  for  a  subpoena  to  the  Presi 
dent  of  the  United  States,  with  a  clause  requiring  him  to  produce  a 
letter  which  he  had  received  from  Glen.  Wilkinson,  dated  21  October, 
1806 ;  and  also  to  produce  copies  of  certain  orders  which  had  been 
issued  by  the  government  relative  to  the  arrest. 

This  application  was  resisted  on  one  ground,  amongst  others,  that 
the  relevancy  or  materiality  of  the  papers  referred  to  was  not  shown, 
— the  affidavit  in  the  case  being  "  that  the  said  letter  may  be  mate 
rial"  to  the  defence.  A  long  debate  ensued. 


CHAP.  XIII.]  AN   ARGUMENT.  155 

MR.  WlRT  said,  in  the  course  of  this  debate — "  We  do  not  deny 
that  a  subpoena  may  be  issued  to  summon  the  President,  and  that  he 
is  as  amenable  to  that  process  as  any  other  citizen. 

*  *         I  shall  show  that  the  subpoena  duccs  tecum  is 

not  a  process  of  right,  but  that  the  application  is  addressed  to  the 
discretion  of  the  court — 

"  MR  WICKHAM. — This  is  admitted. 

"  MR.  WIRT. — I  thank  you  for  the  admission.  You  have  relieved 
me  from  the  unnecessary  trouble  of  so  much  of  my  argument.  The 
question  then  is,  by  what  circumstances  should  that  discretion  be  con 
trolled  ?  Should  it  be  by  the  mere  wish  of  the  prisoner  ?  If  so,  it 
is  in  vain  that  the  court  possesses  any  discretion  on  the  subject.  The 
prisoner  has  but  to  ask  and  have.  Consider  this  wide  and  bold  doc 
trine  on  the  ground  of  expediency.  Would  you  summon  any  private 
individual,  from  the  remotest  part  of  the  United  States,  to  produce 
a  paper  on  the  mere  wish  of  the  prisoner,  without  defining  the  paper, 
and  showing  how  it  bore  on  his  defence  ?  If  you  would,  you  put  the 
pursuits  and  the  peace  of  every  individual  in  the  United  States  at  the 
mercy  of  the  prisoner's  caprice  and  resentments.  This  argument  from 
inconvenience  assumes  an  attitude  of  most  awful  and  alarming  import 
ance,  when  you  extend  it  to  a  case  like  this  before  the  court.  A  pri 
soner  has  seldom  any  cordial  amity  for  the  government  by  which  he 
is  prosecuted  for  a  crime.  The  truth  is,  he  feels  himself  in  a  state 
of  war  with  that  government,  and  the  more  desperate  his  case,  the 
more  ardent  will  be  his  spirit  of  revenge.  Would  you  expose  the 
offices  of  state  to  be  ravaged  at  the  mere  pleasure  of  a  prisoner,  who, 
if  he  feels  that  he  must  fall,  would  pant  for  nothing  more  anxiously 
than  '  to  grace  his  fall  and  make  his  ruin  glorious/  by  dragging  down 
with  him  the  bright  and  splendid  edifice  of  the  government  ?  Sir, 
if  Aaron  Burr  has  the  right,  at  his  mere  wish,  to  call  one  paper  from 
the  government,  he  has  the  same  right  to  call  any  other ;  and  so,  one 
after  another,  might  divulge  every  document  and  secret  of  state,  how 
ever  delicate  our  foreign  relations  might  be,  and  however  ruinous  the 
disclosure  to  the  honour  and  prosperity  of  the  country. 

"It  is  much  to  be  wished  that  a  rule  could  be  devised  which, 
while  it  would  protect  the  rights  of  the  prisoner,  should  also  protect 
the  public  offices  from  being  wantonly  and  unnecessarily  violated.  I 


156  AN  ARGUMENT.  L1807. 

think  there  is  such  a  rule.  It  is  this  :  By  requiring  that  the  prisoner, 
who  calls  for  a  paper,  should  show  that  the  paper  applies  to  his  case 
and  is  requisite  for  his  defence.  When  he  shall  have  done  this,  I  hold 
thai  he  is  entitled  to  call  for  any  paper.  It  will  then  rest  with  the 
President  of  the  United  States,  the  officer  appointed  by  the  people  to 
watch  over  the  national  safety,  to  say  whether  that  safety  will  be  en 
dangered  by  divulging  the  paper. 

******* 
"  Again,  sir.  I  have  never  seen  or  heard  of  an  instance  of  this 
process  being  required  to  bring  forward  any  paper,  but  where  such  a 
paper  was  in  its  nature  evidence,  for  which  either  party  had  an  equal 
right  to  call,  and  to  use  it  when  produced.  But  it  is  obvious  that,  in 
this  case  and  in  the  present  state  of  things,  we  could  not  use  the  let 
ter  of  G-eneral  Wilkinson  as  evidence ;  although  the  opposite  party 
should  obtain  his  subpoena  duces  tecum  for  this  paper,  and  would  seem 
thereby  to  have  made  it  evidence,  and  introduced  it  into  the  cause. 
Yet  after  it  comes  we  cannot  use  it :  hence  there  is  no  reciprocity  in  it. 
The  paper  is  not,  at  present,  evidence,  and  therefore  is  not  within  the 
principle  on  which  this  process  is  awarded.  One  more  remark  on  this 
letter,  and  I  have  done  with  it.  I  am  no  more  an  advocate  for  the 
needless  multiplication  of  state  secrets,  than  the  gentleman  who  has 
preceded  me.  It  looks  too  much  like  the  mysteries  of  monarchy ; 
and  I  hate  monarchy  with  all  its  mysteries,  as  I  do  the  mysterious 
movements  of  those  who  are  lovers  of  monarchy.  Yet  it  is  obvious, 
that  there  may  be  cases  in  which  the  very  safety  of  the  state  may 
depend  on  concealing  the  views  and  operations  of  the  government. 
I  will  instance  this  very  letter.  I  do  not  know  what  it  contains;  but 
it  is  from  the  general  who  commands  on  the  Spanish  frontier.  That 
the  state  of  our  affairs  was  and  is,  with  Spain,  not  the  most  amicable 
is  well  understood.  We  know  that  our  affairs  in  that  quarter  wear, 
even  at  this  time,  the  most  lowering  aspect.  Suppose  this  letter 
should  contain  a  scheme  of  war,  a  project  of  attack,  —  would  it  be 
proper  to  divulge  and  proclaim  it  even  to  Spain  herself?  If  the  let 
ter  contains  such  a  thing,  I  have  no  doubt  that  the  President  ought 
to  and  will  conceal  at  least  so  much  of  it.  This,  however,  will  be  a 
question  with  him,  when  the  paper  shall  be  called  for ;  and  a  question 

which  he  alone  is  competent  to  decide. 

******* 


CHAP.  XIII.]  PRELIMINARY  DISCUSSION.  157 

"I  cannot  take  my  seat,  sir,  without  expressing  my  deep  and  sin 
cere  sorrow  at  the  policy  which  the  gentlemen  in  the  defence  have 
thought  it  necessary  to  adopt.  As  to  Mr.  Martin,  I  should  have  been 
willing  to  impute  this  fervid  language  to  the  sympathies  and  resent 
ments  of  that  friendship  which  he  has  taken  such  frequent  occasions 
to  express  for  the  prisoner,  his  honourable  friend.  In  the  cause  of 
friendship  I  can  pardon  zeal  even  up  to  the  point  of  intemperance ; 
but  the  truth  is,  sir,  that  before  Mr.  Martin  came  to  Richmond,  this 
policy  was  settled ;  and  on  every  question  incidentally  brought  before 
the  court,  we  were  stunned  with  invectives  against  the  administration. 
I  appeal  to  your  recollection,  sir,  whether  this  policy  was  not  mani 
fested  even  so  early  "as  in  those  new  and  until  now  unheard  of  chal 
lenges  to  the  grand  jury  for  favour.  Whether  that  policy  was  not 
followed  up  with  increased  spirit,  in  the  very  first  speeches  which 
were  made  in  this  case;  those  of  Mr.  Botts  and  Mr.  Wickhain  on 
their  previous  question  pending  the  attorney's  motion  to  commit? 
Whether  they  have  not  seized  with  avidity  every  subsequent  occasion, 
and  on  every  mere  question  of  abstract  law  before  the  court,  flew  off 
at  a  tangent  from  the  subject,  to  launch  into  declamations  against  the 
government?  Exhibiting  the  prisoner  continually  as  a  persecuted 
patriot :  a  Russell  or  a  Sidney,  bleeding  under  the  scourge  of  a  despot, 
and  dying  for  virtue's  sake  !  If  there  be  any  truth  in  the  charges 
against  him,  how  different  were  the  purposes  of  his  soul  from  those 
of  a  Russell  or  a  Sidney  !  I  beg  to  know  what  gentlemen  can  intend, 
expect,  or  hope,  from  these  perpetual  philippics  against  the  govern 
ment  ?  Do  they  flatter  themselves  that  this  court  feel  political  pre 
judices  which  will  supply  the  place  of  argument  and  innocence  on 
the  part  of  the  prisoner  ?  Their  conduct  amounts  to  an  insinuation 
of  the  sort.  But  I  do  not  believe  it.  On  the  contrary,  I  feel  the 
firm  and  pleasing  assurance,  that  as  to  the  court,  the  beam  of  their 
judgment  will  remain  steady,  although  the  earth  itself  should  shake 
under  the  concussion  of  prejudice.  Or  is  it  on  the  bystanders  that 
the  gentlemen  expect  to  make  a  favourable  impression?  And  do 
they  use  the  court  merely  as  a  canal,  through  which  they  may  pour 
upon  the  world  their  undeserved  invectives  against  the  government  ? 
Do  they  wish  to  divide  the  popular  resentment,  and  diminish  thereby 
their  own  quota  ?  Before  the  gentlemen  arraign  the  administration, 
VOL.  I.  — 14 


158  PRELIMINARY  DISCUSSION.  [1807. 

let  them  clear  the  skirts  of  their  client.  Let  them  prove  his  inno 
cence  }  let  them  prove  that  he  has  not  covered  himself  with  the  clouds 
of  mystery  and  just  suspicion ;  let  them  prove  that  he  has  been  all 
along  erect  and  fair,  in  open  day,  and  that  these  charges  against  him 
are  totally  groundless  and  false.  That  will  be  the  most  eloquent  in 
vective  which  they  can  pronounce  against  the  prosecution ;  but  until 
they  prove  this  innocence,  it  shall  be  in  vain  that  they  attempt  to 
divert  our  minds  to  other  objects,  and  other  inquiries.  We  will  keep 
our  eyes  on  Aaron  Burr,  until  he  satisfies  our  utmost  scruple.  I  beg 
to  know,  sir,  if  the  course  which  gentlemen  pursue  is  not  disrespect 
ful  to  the  court  itself  ?  Suppose  there  are  any  foreigners  here,  accus 
tomed  to  regular  government  in  their  own  country,  what  can  they 
infer  from  hearing  the  federal  administration  thus  reviled  to  the  fede 
ral  judiciary?  Hearing  the  judiciary  told,  that  the  administration 
are  '  blood-hounds,  hunting  this  man  with  a  keen  and  savage  thirst 
for  blood ;  that  they  now  suppose  they  have  hunted  him  into  their 
toils,  and  have  him  safe.'  Sir,  no  man,  foreigner  or  citizen,  who 
hears  this  language  addressed  to  the  court,  and  received  with  all  the 
complacency  at  least  which  silence  can  imply,  can  make  any  inferences 
from  it  very  honourable  to  the  court.  It  would  only  be  inferred, 
while  they  are  thus  suffered  to  luxuriate  in  these  gross  invectives 
against  the  administration,  that  they  are  furnishing  the  joys  of  a  Ma 
hometan  paradise  to  the  court  as  well  as  to  their  client.  I  hope  that 
the  court,  for  their  own  sakes,  will  compel  a  decent  respect  to  that 
government  of  which  they  themselves  form  a  branch.  On  our  part, 
we  wish  only  a  fair  trial  of  this  case.  If  the  man  be  innocent,  in 
the  name  of  God  let  him  go ;  but  while  we  are  on  the  question  of 
his  guilt  or  innocence,  let  us  not  suffer  our  attention  and  judgment 
to  be  diverted  and  distracted  by  the  introduction  of  other  subjects 
foreign  to  the  inquiry." 

******* 

"  MR.  WICKHAM  appealed  to  the  court  if  the  counsel  for  Colonel 
Burr  had  been  the  first  to  begin  the  attack,  and  wished  the  gentleman 
to  follow  his  own  wise  maxims. 

**##*#* 

"  All  that  Colonel  Burr  is  obliged  to  show,  is  probable  cause  to 
believe  that  Wilkinson's  letter  may  be  material.  Mr.  Wirt  has  said, 


CHAP.  XIII.]  ASPERITIES  OF  COUNSEL.  159 

that  the  acquittal  of  Colonel  Burr  will  be  a  satire  on  the  government. 
I  am  sorry  that  the  gentleman  has  made  this  confession,  that  the 
character  of  the  government  depends  on  the  guilt  of  Colonel  Burr. 
If  I  believed  him  to  be  correct,  I  could  easily  explain,  from  that  cir 
cumstance,  the  anxiety  manifested  to  convict  him,  and  the  prejudices 
which  have  been  excited  against  him.  But  I  will  not  believe  that 
this  is  the  case,  and  will  tell  the  gentleman  that  we  think  Burr  may 
be  acquitted,  and  yet  the  government  have  pure  intentions. 

"  The  writ  of  subpoena  duces  tecum  ought  to  be  issued,  and  if  there 
be  any  state  secrets  to  prevent  the  production  of  the  letter,  the  Presi 
dent  should  allege  it  in  his  return ;  for,  at  present,  we  cannot  know 
that  any  such  secrets  exist.  The  court,  when  his  return  is  before 
them,  can  judge  of  the  cause  assigned.  But  I  have  too  good  an 
opinion  of  the  President  to  think  he  would  withhold  the  letter. 
******* 

"  We  contend  that  no  affidavit  on  the  part  of  Colonel  Burr  is  neces 
sary.  Wilkinson's  affidavit,  already  published,  together  with  the 
President's  communication  to  Congress,  prove  that  the  letter  in 
question  must  be  material.  It  may  show  that  the  treasonable  tran 
sactions  attributed  to  Colonel  Burr,  within  the  limits  of  this  state, 
never  existed ;  for,  as  to  Blennerhasset's  island,  the  gentlemen  in  the 
prosecution  know  there  was  no  such  thing  as  a  military  force  on  that 
island. 

["  Here  Mr.  HAY  interrupted  him,  and  said  that  it  was  extremely 
indelicate  and  improper  to  accuse  them  of  voluntarily  supporting  a 
cause  which  they  knew  to  be  unjust.  He  solemnly  denied  the  truth 
of  the  charge  against  him  and  the  gentleman  who  assisted  him,  and 
declared  that  they  could  prove  the  actual  existence  of  an  armed 
assemblage  of  men  on  Blennerhasset's  island,  under  the  command  of 
Aaron  Burr.] 

"  Mr.  Wickham  acknowledged  that  he  had  gone  too  far  in  the 
expression  he  had  used,  and  ought  not  to  have  uttered  what  he  had 
said  concerning  the  counsel  for  the  United  States,  and  declared  that 
he  meant  nothing  personal  against  them." 

Upon  the  conclusion  of  Mr.  Wickham' s  speech,  the  Chief  Justice 
remarked,  "  that  although  many  observations,  in  the  course  of  the 
several  discussions  which  had  taken  place,  had  been  made  by  the 


1GO  MR.  HAY  AND  MR.  MARTIN.  [1807. 

gentlemen  of  the  bar,  in  the  heat  of  debate,  of  which  the  court  did 
not  approve,  yet  the  court  had  hitherto  avoided  interfering  j  but,  as  a 
pointed  appeal  had  been  made  to  them  on  this  day  (alluding  to  the 
speech  of  Mr.  Wirt),  and  they  had  been  called  upon  to  support  their 
own  dignity  by  preventing  the  government  from  being  abused,  the 
court  thought  it  proper  to  declare  that  the  gentlemen  on  both  sides 
had  acted  improperly  in  the  style  and  spirit  of  their  remarks ;  that 
they  had  been  to  blame  in  endeavouring  to  excite  the  prejudices  of  the 
people ;  and  had  repeatedly  accused  each  other  of  doing  what  they 
forget  they  have  done  themselves  The  court  therefore  expressed  a 
wish  that  the  counsel  for  the  United  States  and  for  Colonel  Burr 
would  confine  themselves,  on  every  occasion,  to  the  point  really  before 
the  court;  that  their  own  good  sense  and  regard  for  their  characters 
required  them  to  follow  such  a  course ;  and  it  was  hoped  that  they 
would  not  hereafter  deviate  from  it." 

Mr.  HAY,  referring  to  the  orders  of  the  government  for  the  sup 
pression  of  Burr's  expedition,  which  were  called  for,  in  connection 
with  the  letter  of  General  Wilkinson,  remarked  : 

"They  next  contend  that  the  orders  are  material,  because  they 
were  illegal,  arbitrary,  unconstitutional,  oppressive,  and  unjust;  that 
Burr's  acts  were  merely  acts  of  self-defence  against  tyranny  and 
usurpation,  and,  of  course,  were  justifiable. 

"  Many  strange  positions  have  been  laid  down,  but  this  is  mon 
strous.  Mr.  Martin  will  excuse  me  for  saying  that  I  expected 
sounder  doctrine  from  his  age  and  experience.  These  principles  were 
not  learnt  by  him  in  Maryland,  nor  are  they  the  doctrines  of  this 
place.  Considering  that  he  has  come  all  the  way  from  Maryland  to 
enlighten  us  of  the  Virginia  bar  by  his  great  talents  and  erudition,  I 
hoped  he  would  not  have  advanced  a  doctrine  which  would  have  been 
abhorred,  even  in  the  most  turbulent  period  of  the  French  revolution, 
by  the  Jacobins  of  1794." 

From  Luther  Martin's  argument  we  extract  a  portion  of  his  reply 
to  Mr.  Hay : 

"The  gentleman  has  told  us/'  he  said,  "that  respect  ought  to  be 
paid  to  the  officers  of  government.  It  is  granted.  I  thought  so  once. 
I  thought  that  the  officers  of  government  ought  to  be  treated  with 
high  respect,  however  much  their  conduct  ought  to  be  the  subject  of 


CHAP.  XIII.]  MR.  HAY  AND  MR.  MARTIN.  161 

criticism ;  and  I  invariably  acted  according  to  that  principle.  If  I 
have  changed  my  opinion,  I  owe  it  to  the  gentleman  himself,  and  the 
party  he  is  connected  with.  They  formerly  thought  differently.  That 
gentleman  and  his  friends  so  loudly  and  incessantly  clamoured  against 
the  officers  of  government,  that  they  contributed  to  effect  a  change  in 
the  administration,  and  are  now,  in  consequence,  basking  in  the  sun 
shine  of  office ;  and  therefore  they  wish  to  inculcate  and  receive  that 
respect  which  they  formerly  denied  to  others  in  the  same  situation. 
We  have  a  right  to  inspect  the  orders  issued  from  the  War  and  Navy 
Departments ;  because,  if  they  were  illegal,  we  had  a  right  to  oppose 
them.  If  they  were  unconstitutional  and  oppressive,  it  was  right  to 
resist  them :  but  this  is  denied,  because  we  are  not  trying  the  Presi 
dent.  God  forbid  we  should !  But  we  are  trying  if  we  had  a  right 
to  resist.  If  every  order,  however  arbitrary  and  unjust,  is  to  be  obeyed, 
we  are  slaves  as  much  as  the  inhabitants  of  Turkey.  If  the  presiden 
tial  edicts  are  to  be  the  supreme  law,  and  the  officers  of  the  govern 
ment  have  but  to  register  them,  as  formerly  in  France,  (the  country 
once  so  famed  by  these  gentlemen  for  its  progress  and  advancement 
towards  liberty;)  and  if  we  must  submit  to  them,  however  unjust  and 
unconstitutional,  we  are  as  subject  to  despotism  as  the  people  of  Tur 
key,  the  subjects  of  the  "Grand  Monarque"  of  old  in  France,  or  those 
of  the  despot  Bonaparte  at  this  day.  If  this  were  true,  where  would 
be  our  boasted  freedom  ?  where  the  superior  advantages  of  our  govern 
ment,  or  the  beneficial  effects  of  our  revolutionary  struggles  ?  I  will 
take  the  liberty  of  explaining  how  far  resistance  is  justifiable.  The 
President  has  certain  known  and  well-defined  powers ;  so  has  a  com 
mon  magistrate,  and  so  has  a  constable.  The  President  may  exceeo1 
his  legal  authority,  as  well  as  a  magistrate  or  a  constable.  If  a  ma 
gistrate  issue  a  warrant  and  direct  it  to  a  constable,  resistance  to  it  is 
at  the  peril  of  the  person  resisting.  If  the  warrant  be  illegal,  he  is 
excused ;  but  if  it  be  legal,  he  is  not.  On  the  same  principle,  resist 
ance  to  the  orders  of  the  President  is  excusable,  if  they  be  unconstitu 
tional  and  illegal.  Resistance  to  an  act  of  oppression,  unauthorised 
by  law,  can  never  be  criminal ;  and  this  is  all  we  contend  for." 

*  *  *  *  *  # 

"  The  gentleman  expressed  his  surprise  that  such  doctrines  should 
come  from  me,  who  come  from  Maryland  to  instruct  and  enlighten 
14*  L 


162  OPINION  OF  THE  COURT.  [1807. 

the  Virginia  bar.  I  come  not  to  instruct  and  enlighten.  I  come  to 
unite  my  feeble  efforts  with  those  of  other  gentlemen  in  defence  of 
my  friend,  whom  I  believe  to  be  perfectly  innocent  of  the  heavy 
charges  against  him ;  but  their  conduct  evinces,  that  if  I  were  to  at 
tempt  it,  my  instructions  would  be  in  vain.  If,  however,  I  did  ven 
ture  to  advise  him,  it  would  be,  not  to  accuse  us  of  evil  intentions ; 
to  mix  a  little  of  the  milk  of  human  nature  with  his  disposition  and 
arguments ;  to  make  his  conduct  conformable  to  his  professions,  and 
not  to  be  perpetually  imputing  guilt  to  us.  But  the  gentleman  needs 
no  advice." 

The  opinion  of  Chief  Justice  Marshall  upon  the  questions  submit 
ted  in  this  debate,  thus  disposes  of  the  principal  point  under  dis 
cussion  : — 

"The  second  objection  is,  that  the  letter  contains  matter  which 
ought  not  to  be  disclosed. 

a  That  there  may  be  matter,  the  production  of  which  the  court 
would  not  require,  is  certain ;  but  that,  in  a  capital  case,  the  accused 
ought,  in  some  form,  to  have  the  benefit  of  it,  if  it  were  really  essen 
tial  to  his  defence,  is  a  position  which  the  court  would  very  reluctantly 
deny.  It  ought  not  to  be  believed,  that  the  department  which  super 
intends  prosecutions  in  criminal  cases  would  be  inclined  to  withhold 
it.  What  ought  to  be  done,  under  such  circumstances,  presents  a 
delicate  question,  the  discussion  of  which,  it  is  hoped,  will  never  be 
rendered  necessary  in  this  country.  At  present  it  need  only  be  said, 
that  the  question  does  not  occur  at  this  time.  There  is  certainly  no 
thing  before  the  court  which  shows  that  the  letter  in  question  contains 
any  matter,  the  disclosure  of  which  would  endanger  the  public  safety. 
If  it  does  contain  such  matter,  the  fact  may  appear  before  the  disclo 
sure  is  made.  If  it  does  contain  any  matter  which  it  would  be  impru 
dent  to  disclose,  which  it  is  not  the  wish  of  the  executive  to  disclose, 
such  matter,  if  it  be  not  immediately  and  essentially  applicable  to  the 
point,  will  of  course  be  suppressed.  It  is  not  easy  to  conceive  that  so 
much  of  the  letter  as  relates  to  the  conduct  of  the  accused  can  be  a 
subject  of  delicacy  with  the  President.  Every  thing  of  this  kind, 
however,  will  have  its  due  consideration,  on  the  return  of  the  sub- 
prena." 

*  *  #  *  #  * 


CHAP.  XIII.]  OPINION  OF  THE  COURT.  163 

"  Much  has  been  said  about  the  disrespect  to  the  chief  magistrate, 
which  is  implied  by  this  motion,  and  by  such  a  decision  of  it  as  the 
law  is  believed  to  require. 

"  These  observations  will  be  very  truly  answered  by  the  declaration, 
that  this  court  feels  many,  perhaps  peculiar  motives,  for  manifesting 
as  guarded  a  respect  for  the  chief  magistrate  of  the  Union  as  is  com 
patible  with  its  official  duties.  To  go  beyond  these  would  exhibit  a 
conduct  which  would  deserve  some  other  appellation  than  the  term 
respect. 

"  It  is  not  for  the  court  to  anticipate  the  event  of  the  present  pro 
secution.  Should  it  terminate  as  is  expected  on  the  part  of  the  United 
States,  all  those  who  are  concerned  in  it  should  certainly  regret  that 
a  paper,  which  the  accused  believed  to  be  essential  to  his  defence, 
which  may,  for  aught  that  now  appears,  be  essential,  had  been  with 
held  from  him.  I  will  not  say  that  this  circumstance  would,  in  any 
degree,  tarnish  the  reputation  of  the  government ;  but  I  will  say,  that 
it  would  justly  tarnish  the  reputation  of  the  court  which  had  given  its 
sanction  to  its  being  withheld.  Might  I  be  permitted  to  utter  one 
sentiment  with  respect  to  myself,  it  would  be  to  deplore,  most  earn 
estly,  the  occasion  which  should  compel  me  to  look  back  on  any  part 
of  my  official  conduct  with  so  much  self-reproach  as  I  should  feel, 
could  I  declare,  on  the  information  now  possessed,  that  the  accused  is 
not  entitled  to  the  letter  in  question,  if  it  should  be  really  important 
to  him. 

"  The  propriety  of  requiring  the  answer  to  this  letter  is  more  ques 
tionable.  It  is  alleged,  that  it  most  probably  communicates  orders 
showing  the  situation  of  this  country  with  Spain,  which  will  be  im 
portant  on  the  misdemeanour.  If  it  contain  matter  not  essential  to  the 
defence,  and  the  disclosure  be  unpleasant  to  the  executive,  it  certainly 
ought  not  to  be  disclosed.  This  is  a  point  which  will  appear  on  the 
return.  The  demand  of  the  orders  which  have  been  issued,  and  which 
have  been,  as  is  alleged,  published  in  the  Natchez  Gazette,  is  by  no 
means  unusual.  Such  documents  have  often  been  produced  in  the 
courts  of  the  United  States  and  the  courts  of  England.  If  they  con 
tain  matter  interesting  to  the  nation,  the  concealment  of  which  is  re 
quired  by  the  public  safety,  that  matter  will  appear  upon  the  return. 
If  they  do  not,  and  are  material,  they  may  be  exhibited." 


164  RIGHT  TO  PUBLIC  PAPERS.  [1807. 

This  decision  seems,  with  some  qualification,  to  conform  with  the 
views  of  Mr.  Jefferson,  as  expressed  upon  this  proceeding  in  his  letter 
to  Mr.  Hay,  in  which,  after  proffering  his  readiness  to  supply  the 
letter  in  question,  and  all  other  matters  alleged  to  be  necessary  to  the 
defence,  he  remarks : 

"  With  respect  to  papers,  there  is  certainly  a  public  and  a  private 
side  to  our  offices.  To  the  former  belong  grants  of  land,  patents  for 
inventions,  certain  commissions,  proclamations,  and  other  papers  patent 
in  their  nature.  To  the  other  belong  mere  executive  proceedings. 
All  nations  have  found  it  necessary  that,  for  the  advantageous  conduct 
of  their  affairs,  some  of  these  proceedings,  at  least,  should  remain 
known  to  their  executive  functionary  only.  He,  of  course,  from  the 
nature  of  the  case,  must  be  the  sole  judge  of  which  of  them  the  public 
interests  will  permit  publication.  Hence,  under  our  Constitution,  in 
requests  of  papers  from  the  legislative  to  the  executive  branch,  an 
exception  is  carefully  expressed,  as  to  those  which  he  may  deem  the 
public  welfare  may  require  not  to  be  disclosed ;  as  you  will  see  in  the 
enclosed  resolution  of  the  House  of  Representatives,  which  produced 
the  message  of  January  22d,  respecting  this  case.  The  respect  natu 
rally  due  between  the  constituted  authorities,  in  their  official  inter 
course,  as  well  as  sincere  dispositions  to  do  for  every  one  what  is  just, 
will  always  insure  from  the  executive,  in  exercising  the  duty  of  dis 
crimination  confided  to  him,  the  same  candour  and  integrity  to  which 
the  nation  has,  in  like  manner,  trusted  in  the  disposal  of  its  judiciary 
authorities/' 

This  brief  summary  of  a  discussion,  in  the  year  1807,  presents  a 
topic  upon  which  much  doubt  has  often  been  expressed  in  the  Con 
gress  of  the  United  States,  and  has  sometimes  been  debated  with  no 
little  acrimony — the  extent  of  the  right  and  the  duty  of  the  President 
to  withhold  information  demanded  by  either  house  of  Congress.  The 
decision  of  the  court,  of  which  an  extract  is  given  in  this  notice  of  the 
trial,  and  Mr.  Jefferson's  strictures  upon  the  relative  duties  of  the 
legislature  and  the  executive,  seem  to  present  the  question  in  a  point 
of  view  which  should  lead  to  a  just  and  definitive  limitation  of  the 
boundaries  by  which  each  is  properly  circumscribed. 


CHAPTER    XIV. 

1807. 

BURR'S  TRIAL  CONTINUED. — THE  PRINCIPAL  ARGUMENT  IN  THE 
CASE. NOTICES  OF  WIRT'S  SHARE  IN  IT. MR.  MERCER'S  TESTI 
MONY. HIS  DESCRIPTION  OF  BLENNERH ASSET'S  RESIDENCE. 

OTHER   INCIDENTS   OF   THE   TRIAL. 

THE  trial  proceeded  through  its  preliminary  stages,  in  which  every 
question,  capable  of  being  raised,  was  presented  and  contested  with 
scrupulous  pertinacity  and  with  abundance  o£  acrimony.  At  length 
the  two  indictments  were  found ; — the  first,  for  treason,  the  second, 
for  the  misdemeanour.  The  case  of  treason  was  first  taken  up ;  the 
plea  of  not  guilty  made,  and,  after  many  challenges  and  rejections  of 
those  who  had  been  summoned  on  the  petit  jury,  a  panel  was  obtained. 
New  points,  as  to  the  order  of  examining  the  witnesses,  were  mooted 
and  argued  at  every  step,  with  the  same  asperity  as  before.  Much 
testimony  was  delivered  on  the  part  of  the  prosecution.  The  charge 
of  treason  was  supposed,  by  the  counsel  for  the  government,  to  be 
sustained  by  the  evidence.  This  evidence  proved  that  numbers  of 
persons,  amounting  to  some  thirty  or  more,  had  assembled  in  warlike 
array,  on  Blennerhasset's  island,  in  the  Ohio  river,  near  Marietta,  in 
December  1806,  with  a  purpose,  as  it  was  affirmed,  to  proceed  down 
the  river,  and,  with  the  assistance  of  others,  to  seize  the  city  of  New 
Orleans,  under  the  pretence  of  the  ultimate  invasion  of  Mexico.  It 
was  not  proved,  however,  that  Colonel  Burr  was  present  with  these 
men  on  the  island. 

Upon  this  testimony  the  counsel  for  the  prisoner  asked  the  interpo 
sition  of  the  court,  to  arrest  the  further  examination  of  witnesses,  on 
the  following  ground,  as  stated  by  Mr.  Wickham. 

"  The  counsel  for  the  prosecution  having  gone  through  their  evi 
dence  relating  directly  to  the  overt  act  charged  in  the  indictment,  and 
being  about  to  introduce  collateral  testimony  of  acts  done  beyond  the 

(165) 


166  BURR'S  TRIAL  CONTINUED.  [1807. 

limits  of  the  jurisdiction  of  this  court,  and,  it  not  only  appearing  from 
the  proofs,  but  being  distinctly  admitted,  that  the  accused,  at  the 
period  when  the  war  was  said  to  have  been  levied  against  the  United 
States,  was  hundreds  of  miles  distant  from  the  scene  of  action,  it  be 
comes  the  duty  of  his  counsel  to  object  to  the  introduction  of  any 
such  testimony  as  wholly  irrelevant  and  inadmissible."  Upon  this 
motion  of  the  prisoner's  counsel  arose  the  great  and  decisive  argument 
in  the  case. 

The  discussion  chiefly  turned  on  the  proposition  suggested  by  Mr. 
Wickham, — "  That  no  person  can  be  convicted  of  treason  in  levying 
war,  who  was  not  personally  present  at  the  commission  of  the  act 
charged  in  the  indictment  as  constituting  the  offence." 

There  were  other  questions  of  less  significance  in  the  case,  which 
were  also  argued  with  great  amplitude  and  labour.  "  Whether  there 
can  be  treason  in  levying  war  without  the  employment  of  force." 
"  Whether  one  who  would  be  only  an  accessory  in  a  felony,  is  to  be 
considered  as  a  principal  in  treason  by  levying  war."  "And  if  so, 
whether  the  real  principal  ought  not  first  to  be  convicted."  These 
points  and  others  were  debated. 

I  have  already  intimated  that  it  is  not  my  design  to  furnish  even 
an  outline  of  this  case ;  that  my  purpose  is  to  submit  only  so  much 
of  it  to  the  reader,  as  may  give  him  some  characteristic  indications  of 
Mr.  Wirt's  efforts  towards  the  performance  of  the  duty  it  imposed 
upon  him.  In  the  pursuit  of  this  purpose,  I  shall  continue  to  make 
some  extracts  from  his  argument  upon  the  points  now  presented. 
This  discussion  was  conducted  with  full  preparation  and  study  by  all 
the  counsel  in  the  case,  and  as  it  was  of  a  nature  to  determine  the 
issue  of  the  prosecution,  it  attracted  a  proportionate  degree  of  interest 
from  the  public. 

The  extracts  from  Mr.  Wirt's  speech  which  follow,  are  made 
sparsim,  and  without  reference  to  a  continuous  or  connected  view  of 
his  topics :  they  are  offered  as  specimens  of  manner,  and  illustrations 
of  modes  of  thought,  and  with  no  view  to  an  exhibition  of  the  general 
force  of  the  argument,  which,  indeed,  could  not  be  abbreviated  with 
out  doing  injustice  to  the  speaker. 

"It  is  my  duty,"  said  Mr.  Wirt,  in  the  commencement  of  his 
speech,  "  to  proceed  on  the  part  of  the  United  States,  in  opposing 


CHAP.  XIV.]  WIRT'S  SPEECH.  167 

this  motion.  But  I  should  not  deem  it  my  duty  to  oppose  it,  if  it 
were  founded  on  correct  principles.  I  stand  here  with  the  same  in 
dependence  of  action  which  belongs  to  the  Attorney  of  the  United 
States ;  and  as  he  would  certainly  relinquish  the  prosecution  the  mo 
ment  he  became  convinced  of  its  injustice,  so  also  most  certainly 
would  I.  The  humanity  and  justice  of  this  nation  would  revolt  at 
the  idea  of  a  prosecution,  pushed  on  against  a  life,  which  stood  pro 
tected  by  the  laws  j  but  whether  they  would  or  not,  I  would  not  plant 
a  thorn,  to  rankle  for  life  in  my  heart,  by  opening  my  lips  in  support 
of  a  prosecution  which  I  felt  and  believed  to  be  unjust.  But  believ 
ing,  as  I  do,  that  this  motion  is  not  founded  in  justice,  that  it  is  a 
mere  manoeuvre  to  obstruct  the  inquiry,  to  turn  it  from  the  proper 
course,  to  wrest  the  trial  of  the  facts  from  the  proper  tribunal,  the 
jury,  and  embarrass  the  court  with  a  responsibility  which  it  ought 
not  to  feel,  I  hold  it  my  duty  to  proceed  for  the  sake  of  the  court,  for 
the  sake  of  vindicating  the  trial  by  jury,  now  sought  to  be  violated, 
for  the  sake  of  full  and  ample  justice  in  this  particular  case,  for  the 
sake  of  the  future  peace,  union  and  independence  of  these  states,  I 
feel  it  my  bounden  duty  to  proceed ;  in  doing  which,  I  beg  that  the 
prisoner  and  his  counsel  will  recollect  the  extreme  difficulty  of  clothing 
my  argument  in  terms  which  may  be  congenial  with  their  feelings. 
The  gentlemen  appear  to  me  to  feel  a  very  extraordinary  and  unrea 
sonable  degree  of  sensibility  on  this  occasion.  They  seem  to  forget 
the  nature  of  the  charge,  and  that  we  are  the  prosecutors.  "We  do 
not  stand  here  to  pronounce  a  panegyric  on  the  prisoner,  but  to  urge 
on  him  the  crime  of  treason  against  his  country.  When  we  speak  of 
treason,  we  must  call  it  treason.  When  we  speak  of  a  traitor,  we 
must  call  him  a  traitor.  When  we  speak  of  a  plot  to  dismember  the 
Union,  to  undermine  the  liberties  of  a  great  portion  of  the  people  of 
this  country,  and  subject  them  to  a  usurper  and  a  despot,  we  are 
obliged  to  use  the  terms  which  convey  those  ideas.  Why  then  are 
gentlemen  so  sensitive  ?  Why  on  these  occasions,  so  necessary,  so 
anavoidable,  do  they  shrink  back  with  so  much  agony  of  nerve,  as  if 
instead  of  a  hall  of  justice,  we  were  in  a  drawing-room  with  Colonel 
Burr,  and  were  barbarously  violating  towards  him  every  principle  of 
decorum  and  humanity? 

"  Mr.  Wickham  has  indeed  invited  us  to  consider  the  subject  ab 
stractedly  ;  and  we  have  been  told  that  it  is  expected  to  be  so  considered ; 
but,  sir,  if  this  were  practicable,  would  there  be  no  danger  in  it  ? 
Would  there  be  no  danger,  while  we  were  mooting  points,  pursuing  inge 
nious  hypotheses,  chasing  elementary  principles  over  the  wide  extended 
plains  and  Alpine  heights  of  abstracted  law,  that  we  should  lose  sight 
of  the  great  question  before  the  court  ?  This  may  suit  the  purposes 
of  the  counsel  for  the  prisoner ;  but  it  does  not  therefore  necessarily 
suit  the  purposes  of  truth  and  justice.  It  will  be  proper,  when  we 
have  derived  a  principle  from  law  or  argument,  that  we  should  bring 


168  WIRT'S  SPEECH.  [1807. 

it  to  the  case  before  the  court,  in  order  to  test  its  application  and  its 
practical  truth.  In  doing  which,  we  are  driven  into  the  nature  of  the 
case,  and  must  speak  of  it  as  we  find  it.  But  besides,  the  gentlemen 
have  themselves  rendered  this  totally  abstracted  argument  completely 
impossible,  for  one  of  their  positions  is,  that  there  is  no  overt  act 
proven  at  all.  Now,  that  an  overt  act  consists  of  fact  and  intention, 
has  been  so  often  repeated  here,  that  it  has  a  fair  title  to  Justice 
Vaughan's  epithet  of  a  <  decantatum,'  In  speaking  then  of  this  overt 
act,  we  are  compelled  to  inquire,  not  merely  into  the  fact  of  the  as 
semblage,  but  the  intention  of  it,  in  doing  which,  we  must  examine 
and  develope  the  whole  project  of  the  prisoner.  It  is  obvious,  there 
fore,  that  an  abstract  examination  of  this  point  cannot  be  made ;  and 
since  the  gentlemen  drive  us  into  the  examination,  they  cannot  com 
plain,  if,  without  any  softening  of  lights  or  deepening  of  shades,  we 
exhibit  the  picture  in  its  true  and  natural  state. 

"  This  motion  is  a  bold  and  original  stroke  in  the  noble  science  of 
defence.  It  marks  the  genius  and  hand  of  a  master.  For  it  gives 
to  the  prisoner  every  possible  advantage,  while  it  gives  him  the  full 
benefit  of  his  legal  defence  :  the  sole  defence  which  he  would  be  able 
to  make  to  the  jury,  if  the  evidence  were  all  introduced  before  them. 
It  cuts  off  from  the  prosecution  all  that  evidence  which  goes  to  con 
nect  the  prisoner  with  the  assemblage  on  the  island,  to  explain  the 
destination  and  objects  of  the  assemblage,  and  to  stamp,  beyond  con 
troversy,  the  character  of  treason  upon  it.  Connect  this  motion  with 
that  which  was  made  the  other  day,  to  compel  us  to  begin  with  the 
proof  of  the  overt  act,  in  which,  from  their  zeal,  gentlemen  were 
equally  sanguine,  and  observe  what  would  have  been  the  effect  of  suc 
cess  in  both  motions.  We  should  have  been  reduced  to  the  single 
fact,  the  individual  fact,  of  the  assemblage  on  the  island,  without  any 
of  the  evidence  which  explains  the  intention  and  object  of  that  assem 
blage.  Thus,  gentlemen  would  have  cut  off  all  the  evidence  which 
carries  up  the  plot  almost  to  its  conception,  which,  at  all  events, 
describes  the  first  motion  which  quickened  it  into  life,  and  follows  its 
progress,  until  it  attained  such  strength  and  maturity,  as  to  throw  the 
whole  western  country  into  consternation.  Thus,  of  the  world  of 
evidence  which  we  have,  we  should  have  been  reduced  to  the  speck, 
the  atom,  which  relates  to  Blennerhasset's  Island. 


"  I  shall  proceed  now  to  examine  the  merits  of  the  motion  itself, 
and  to  answer  the  argument  of  the  gentleman  (Mr.  Wickham)  who 
opened  it.  I  will  treat  that  gentleman  with  candour.  If  I  misrepre 
sent  him,  it  will  not  be  intentionally.  I  will  not  follow  the  example 
which  he  has  set  me  on  a  very  recent  occasion.  I  will  not  complain 
of  flowers  and  graces  where  none  exist.  I  will  not,  like  him,  reply 
to  an  argument  as  naked  as  a  sleeping  Venus,  but  certainly  not  half 


CHAP.  XIV.l  WIRT'S  SPEECH.  169 

so  beautiful,  complain  of  the  painful  necessity  I  am  under,  in  the 
weakness  and  decrepitude  of  logical  vigour,  of  lifting  first  this  flounce 
and  then  that  furbelow,  before  I  can  reach  the  wished-for  point  of 
attack.  I  keep  no  flounces  or  furbelows,  ready  manufactured  and 
hung  up  for  use  in  the  millinery  of  my  fancy ;  and,  if  I  did,  I  think 
I  should  not  be  so  indiscreetly  impatient  to  get  rid  of  my  wares, 
as  to  put  them  off  on  improper  occasions.  I  cannot  promise  to  inte 
rest  you  by  any  classical  and  elegant  allusions  to  the  pure  pages  of 
Tristram  Shandy.  I  cannot  give  you  a  squib  or  a  rocket  in  every 
period.  For  my  own  part,  I  have  always  thought  these  flashes  of  wit 
(if  they  deserve  that  name),  I  have  always  thought  these  meteors  of 
the  brain,  which  spring  up  with  such  exuberant  abundance  in  the 
speeches  of  that  gentleman,  which  play  on  each  side  of  the  path  of 
reason,  or,  sporting  across  it  with  fantastic  motion,  decoy  the  mind 
from  the  true  point  in  debate,  no  better  evidence  of  the  soundness  of 
the  argument  with  which  they  are  connected,  nor,  give  me  leave  to 
add,  the  vigour  of  the  brain  from  which  they  spring,  than  those  va 
pours  which  start  from  our  marshes  and  blaze  with  a  momentary  com 
bustion,  and  which,  floating  on  the  undulations  of  the  atmosphere, 
beguile  the  traveller  into  bogs  and  brambles,  are  evidences  of  the 
firmness  and  solidity  of  the  earth  from  which  they  proceed.  I  will 
endeavour  to  meet  the  gentleman's  propositions  in  their  full  force,  and 
to  answer  them  fairly.  I  will  not,  as  I  am  advancing  towards  them, 
with  my  mind's  eye,  measure  the  height,  breadth,  and  power  of  the 
proposition ;  if  I  find  it  beyond  my  strength,  halve  it ;  if  still  beyond 
my  strength,  quarter  it ;  if  still  necessary,  subdivide  it  into  eighths ; 
and  when  by  this  process  I  have  reduced  it  to  the  proper  standard, 
take  one  of  these  sections,  and  toss  it  with  an  air  of  elephantine 
strength  and  superiority.  If  I  find  myself  capable  of  conducting,  by 
a  fair  course  of  reasoning,  any  one  of  his  propositions  to  an  absurd 
conclusion,  I  will  not  begin  by  stating  that  absurd  conclusion,  as  the 
proposition  itself  which  I  am  going  to  encounter.  I  will  not,  in  com 
menting  on  the  gentleman's  authorities,  thank  the  gentleman  with 
sarcastic  politeness  for  introducing  them,  declare  that  they  conclude 
directly  against  him,  read  just  so  much  of  the  authority  as  serves  the 
purpose  of  that  declaration,  omitting  that  which  contains  the  true 
point  of  the  case  which  makes  against  me ;  nor,  if  forced  by  a  direct 
call  to  read  that  part  also,  will  I  content  myself  by  running  over  it  as 
rapidly  and  inarticulately  as  I  can,  throw  down  the  book  with  a  the 
atrical  air,  and  exclaim,  '  just  as  I  said/  when  I  know  it  is  just  as  I 
had  not  said.  I  know  that  by  adopting  these  arts,  I  might  raise  a 
laugh  at  the  gentleman's  expense ;  but  I  should  be  very  little  pleased 
with  myself,  if  I  were  capable  of  enjoying  a  laugh  procured  by  such 
means.  I  know  too,  that  by  adopting  such  arts,  there  will  always  be 
those  standing  around  us,  who  have  not  comprehended  the  whole 
merits  of  the  legal  discussion,  with  whom  I  might  shake  the  character 
VOL.  I.— 15 


170  WIRT'S  SPEECH,  [1807. 

of  the  gentleman's  science  and  judgment  as  a  lawyer.  I  hope  I  shall 
never  be  capable  of  such  a  wish,  and  I  had  hoped  that  the  gentleman 
himself  felt  so  strongly  that  proud,  that  high,  aspiring,  and  ennobling 
magnanimity,  which  I  had  been  told  conscious  talents  rarely  fail  to 
inspire,  that  he  would  have  disdained  a  poor  and  fleeting  triumph, 
gained  by  means  like  these. 

"  I  proceed  now  to  answer  the  several  points  of  his  argument,  so 
far  as  they  could  be  collected  from  the  general  course  of  his  speech. 
I  say,  so  far  as  they  could  be  collected;  for  the  gentleman,  although 
requested  before  he  began,  refused  to  reduce  his  motion  to  writing. 
It  suited  better  his  partizan  style  of  warfare  to  be  perfectly  at  large ; 
to  change  his  ground  as  often  as  he  pleased ;  on  the  plains  of  Mon- 
mouth  to-day,  at  the  Eutaw  Springs  to-morrow.  He  will  not  censure 
me,  therefore,  if  I  have  not  been  correct  in  gathering  his  points  from 
a  desultory  discourse  of  four  or  five  hours  in  length,  as  it  would  not 
have  been  wonderful  if  I  had  misunderstood  him.  I  trust,  therefore, 
that  I  have  been  correct ;  it  was  my  intention  to  be  so ;  for  I  can 
neither  see  pleasure  nor  interest,  in  misrepresenting  any  gentleman ; 
and  I  now  beg  the  court  and  the  gentleman,  if  he  will  vouchsafe  it, 
to  set  me  right,  if  I  have  misconceived  him. 

"  I  understood  him,  then,  sir,  to  resist  the  introduction  of  farther 
evidence  under  this  indictment,  by  making  four  propositions  : 

"  1.  Because  Aaron  Burr,  not  being  on  the  island  at  the  time  of 
the  assemblage,  cannot  be  a  principal  in  the  treason  according  to  the 
constitutional  definition  or  the  laws  of  England. 

"2.  Because  the  indictment  must  be  proved  as  laid ;  and  as  the 
indictment  charges  the  prisoner  with  levying  war  with  an  assemblage 
on  the  island,  no  evidence  to  charge  him  with  that  act  by  relation  is 
relevant  to  this  indictment. 

"  3.  Because,  if  he  be  a  principal  in  the  treason  at  all,  he  is  a 
principal  in  the  second  degree }  and  his  guilt  being  of  that  kind  which 
is  termed  derivative,  no  parol  evidence  can  be  let  in  to  charge  him, 
until  we  shall  show  a  record  of  the  conviction  of  the  principals  in  the 
first  degree. 

"  4.  Because  no  evidence  is  relevant  to  connect  the  prisoner  with 
others,  and  thus  to  make  him  a  traitor  by  relation,  until  we  shall 
previously  show  an  act  of  treason  in  these  others ;  and  the  assemblage 
on  the  island  was  not  an  act  of  treason. 

"I  beg  leave  to  take  up  these  propositions  in  succession,  and  to 
give  them  those  answers  which  to  my  mind  are  satisfactory.  Let  us 
examine  the  first :  It  is  because  Aaron  Burr,  not  being  present  on  the 
island  at  the  time  of  the  assemblage,  cannot  be  a  principal  in  the 
treason,  within  the  constitutional  definition  or  the  laws  of  England. 

u  In  many  of  the  gentleman's  general  propositions,  I  perfectly 
accord  with  him :  as  that  the  Constitution  was  intended  to  guard 
against  the  calamities  to  which  Montesquieu  refers,  when  he  speaks 


CHAP.  XIV.]  WIRT'S  SPEECH.  171 

of  the  victims  of  treason;  that  the  Constitution  intended  to  guard 
against  arbitrary  and  constructive  treasons;  that  the  principles  of 
sound  reason  and  liberty  require  their  exclusion ;  and  that  the  Con 
stitution  is  to  be  interpreted  by  the  rules  of  reason  and  moral  right. 
I  fear,  however,  that  I  shall  find  it  difficult  to  accommodate  both  the 
gentlemen  who  have  spoken  in  support  of  the  motion,  and  to  recon 
cile  some  of  the  positions  of  Mr.  Randolph  to  the  rules  of  Mr.  Wick- 
ham  ;  for  while  the  one  tells  us  to  interpret  the  Constitution  by  sound 
reason,  the  other  exclaims,  '  save  us  from  the  deductions  of  common 
sense/  What  rule,  then,  shall  I  adopt  ?  A  kind  of  reason  which  is 
not  common  sense  might  indeed  please  both  the  gentlemen ;  but  as 
that  is  a  species  of  reason  of  which  I  have  no  very  distinct  conception, 

I  hope  the  gentlemen  will  excuse  me  for  not  employing  it. 

*****  *  * 

"  The  inquiry  is,  whether  presence  at  the  overt  act  be  necessary  to 
make  a  man  a  traitor  ?  The  gentlemen  say  that  it  is  necessary ;  that 
he  cannot  be  a  principal  in  the  treason  without  actual  presence. 
What  says  the  Supreme  Court,  in  the  case  of  Bollman  and  Swart- 
wout  ?  l  It  is  not  the  intention  of  the  court  to  say  that  no  individual 
can  be  guilty  of  this  crime  who  has  not  appeared  in  arms  against  his 
country ;  on  the  contrary,  if  war  be  actually  levied,  that  is,  if  a  body 
of  men  be  assembled,  for  the  purpose  of  effecting  by  force  a  treasonable 
purpose,  all  those  who  perform  any  part,  however  minute,  or  however 
remote  from  the  scene  of  action,  and  who  are  actually  leagued  in  the 

general  conspiracy,  are  to  be  considered  as  traitors/ 

******* 

"  The  counsel  knew  that  their  first  point  was  met  directly  by  the 
counter  authority  of  the  Supreme  Court.  They  have  impliedly,  if 
not  expressly  admitted  it ;  hence  they  have  been  reduced  to  the  neces 
sity  of  taking  the  bold  and  difficult  ground,  that  the  passage  which  I 
have  read  is  extra-judicial,  a  mere  obiter  dictum.  They  have  said 
this,  but  they  have  not  attempted  to  show  it. 

"  Give  me  leave  to  show  that  they  are  mistaken ;  that  it  is  not  an 
obiter  dictum ;  that  it  is  not  extra-judicial ;  but  that  it  is  a  direct 

adjudication  of  a  point  immediately  before  the  court. 

******* 

"  But,  for  a  moment,  let  us  relinquish  that  decision  ;  and,  putting 
it  aside,  let  us  indulge  the  gentleman  with  the  inquiry,  whether  that 
decision  be  in  conformity  with  the  Constitution  of  the  United  States 
and  the  laws  of  England.  In  interpreting  the  Constitution,  let  us 
apply  to  it  the  gentleman's  own  principles :  the  rules  of  reason  and 
moral  right.  The  question  to  be  thus  determined,  is  whether  a  man 
who  is  absent  may  not  be  guilty  as  if  he  were  actually  present. 

"  That  a  law  should  be  so  construed  as  to  advance  the  remedy  and 
repress  the  mischief,  is  not  more  a  rule  of  common  law  than  a  princi 
ple  of  reason  :  it  applies  to  penal  as  well  as  to  remedial  laws.  So  also 


172  WIRT'S  SPEECH.  [1807. 

the  maxim  of  the  common  law,  that  a  law  as  well  as  a  covenant  should 
he  so  construed  that  its  object  may  rather  prevail  than  perish,  is  one 
of  the  plainest  dictates  of  common  sense.  Apply  these  principles  to 
the  Constitution.  Gentlemen  have  said,  that  its  object  was  to  prevent 
the  people  from  being  harassed  by  arbitrary  and  constructive  treason. 
But  its  object,  I  presume,  was  not  to  declare  that  there  was  no  such 
crime.  It  certainly  did  not  mean  to  encourage  treason.  It  meant  to 
recognise  the  existence  of  the  crime,  and  provide  for  its  punishment. 
The  liberties  of  the  people,  which  required  that  the  offence  should  be 
defined,  circumscribed  and  limited,  required  also  that  it  should  be  cer 
tainly  and  adequately  punished.  The  framers  of  the  Constitution, 
informed  by  the  examples  of  Greece  and  Rome,  and  foreseeing  that 
the  liberties  of  this  republic  might  one  day  or  other  be  seized  by  the 
daring  ambition  of  some  domestic  usurper,  have  given  peculiar  import 
ance  and  solemnity  to  the  crime,  by  ingrafting  it  upon  the  Constitu 
tion.  But  they  have  done  this  in  vain,  if  the  construction  contended 
for  on  the  other  side  is  to  prevail.  If  it  require  actual  presence  at 
the  scene  of  the  assemblage,  to  involve  a  man  in  the  guilt  of  treason, 
how  easy  will  it  be  for  the  principal  traitor  to  avoid  this  guilt,  and 
escape  punishment  forever  !  He  may  go  into  distant  States,  from  one 
State  to  another.  He  may  secretly  wander,  like  a  demon  of  darkness, 
from  one  end  of  the  continent  to  the  other.  He  may  enter  into  the 
confidence  of  the  simple  and  unsuspecting.  He  may  pour  his  poison 
into  the  minds  of  those  who  were  before  innocent.  He  may  seduce 
them  into  a  love  of  his  person  j  offer  them  advantages  j  pretend  that 
his  measures  are  honourable  and  beneficial ;  connect  them  in  his  plot 
and  attach  them  to  his  glory.  He  may  prepare  the  whole  mechanism 
of  the  stupendous  and  destructive  engine,  and  put  it  in  motion.  Let 
the  rest  be  done  by  his  agents.  He  may  then  go  a  hundred  miles 
from  the  scene  of  action.  Let  him  keep  himself  only  from  the  scene 
of  the  assemblage  and  the  immediate  spot  of  battle,  and  he  is  innocent 
in  law,  while  those  whom  he  has  deluded  are  to  suffer  the  death  of 
traitors !  Who  is  the  most  guilty  of  this  treason,  the  poor,  weak,  de 
luded  instruments,  or  the  artful  and  ambitious  man  who  corrupted  and 
misled  them?  There  is  no  comparison  between  his  guilt  and  theirs; 
and  yet  you  secure  impunity  to  him,  while  they  are  to  suffer  death  ! 
Is  this  according  to  the  rules  of  reason  ?  Is  this  moral  right  ?  Is 
this  a  mean  of  preventing  treason  ?  Or,  rather,  is  it  not  in  truth  a 
direct  invitation  to  it  ?  Sir,  it  is  obvious  that  neither  reason  nor  moral 
right  require  actual  presence  at  the  overt  act  to  constitute  the  crime 
of  treason.  Put  this  case  to  any  common  man,  whether  the  absence 
of  a  corrupter  should  exempt  him  from  punishment  for  the  crime 
which  he  has  excited  his  deluded  agents  to  commit,  and  he  will  in 
stantly  tell  you  that  he  deserves  infinitely  more  severe  punishment 
than  his  misguided  instruments.  There  is  a  moral  sense,  much  more 
unerring,  in  questions  of  this  sort,  than  the  frigid  deductions  of  jurists 


CHAP.  XIV.]  WIRT'S  SPEECH.  173 

or  philosophers  ]  and  no  man  of  a  sound  mind  and  heart  can  doubt  for 
a  moment  between  the  comparative  guilt  of  Aaron  Burr  (the  prime 
mover  of  the  whole  mischief)  and  of  the  poor  men  on  Blennerhasset's 
island,  who  called  themselves  Burr's  men.  In  the  case  of  murder, 
who  is  the  most  guilty,  the  ignorant,  deluded  perpetrator,  or  the  abo 
minable  instigator  ?  The  decision  of  the  Supreme  Court,  sir,  is  so  far 
from  being  impracticable  on  the  ground  of  reason  and  moral  right, 
that  it  is  supported  by  their  most  obvious  and  palpable  dictates.  Give 
to  the  Constitution  the  construction  contended  for  on  the  other  side, 
and  you  might  as  well  expunge  the  crime  from  your  criminal  code  j 
nay,  you  had  better  do  it;  for  by  this  construction  you  hold  out  the 
lure  of  impunity  to  the  most  dangerous  men  in  the  community,  men 
of  ambition  and  talents,  while  you  loose  the  vengeance  of  the  law  on 
the  comparatively  innocent.  If  treason  ought  to  be  repressed,  I  ask 
you,  who  is  the  most  dangerous  and  the  most  likely  to  commit  it, — 
the  mere  instrument  who  applies  the  force,  or  the  daring,  aspiring, 
elevated  genius  who  devises  the  whole  plot,  but  acts  behind  the 
scenes  ? 

"  Permit  me  now  to  bring  Mr.  Wickham  to  England.  Sir,  the 
decision  of  the  Supreme  Court  is  equally  supported  by  the  law  of 
England. 

*  *  #  *  *  * 

11  But  to  gratify  them,  let  us  put  Coke  aside ;  what  will  they  say 
to  Lord  Hale  ?  Did  any  angry  and  savage  passions  agitate  his  bosom 
or  darken  the  horizon  of  his  understanding  on  criminal  law  ?  0  no, 
sir,  no  spot  ever  soiled  the  holy  ermine  of  his  office;  mild,  patient, 
benevolent  —  halcyon  peace  in  his  breast,  with  a  mind  beaming  the 
effulgence  of  noon-day,  and  with  a  seraph's  soul,  he  sat  on  the  bench 
like  a  descended  God !  Yet  that  judge  has  laid  down  the  doctrine 
for  which  I  contend,  in  terms  as  distinct  and  emphatic  as  those  of 
Lord  Coke.  In  1  Hale-,  214 — 'But  if  many  conspire  to  counterfeit, 
or  counsel,  or  abet  it,  and  one  of  them  doth  the  fact  upon  that  coun 
selling  or  conspiracy,  it  is  treason  in  all,  and  they  may  be  all  indicted 
for  counterfeiting  general^,  within  this  statute,  for  in  such  case  in 
treason  all  are  principals.' 

#•  *  #•  -x-  *•  -x-  #• 

"  It  is  true  that  Judge  Tucker  has  very  elaborately  discussed  this 
subject,  and  combated  the  doctrine  that  all  are  principals.  I  admit 
the  truth  of  all  the  encomiums  which  the  counsel  for  the  defendant 
have  pronounced  upon  that  gentleman.  He  has  all  the  illuminaticrii 
of  mind  and  all  the  virtues  of  the  heart,  which  those  gentlemen, 
with  the  view  of  enhancing  the  weight  of  his  authority,  have  been 
pleased  to  ascribe  to  him.  What  they  have  said  of  him  from  policy, 
I  can  say  of  him  from  my  heart,  for  I  know  it  to  be  true.  Yet  give 
me  leave,  sir,  very  briefly  to  examine  his  argument  upon  this  subject. 
His  object  is  to  prove,  that  the  position,  that  'in  high  treason,  all  arc 
'  15* 


174  WIRT'S  SPEECH.  [1807. 

principals/  is  not  law  in  England.  The  mode  which  he  adopts  to 
prove  his  point  is  this  :  He  collates  all  the  authorities  which  have  sup 
ported  this  doctrine,  and  tracing  it  up  with  patient  and  laborious  per 
severance,  with  the  view  l  peter e  fontesj  he  finds  the  first  spring  in 
the  reign  of  Henry  VI.  That  case  is  reported  in  the  year-book,  1 
Hen.  6,  5,  and  is  very  nearly  as  stated  by  Mr.  Tucker  from  Stanford. 
It  is  the  case  of  a  man,  who  broke  prison  and  let  out  traitors.  Stan 
ford  says  it  was  adjudged  petit  treason ;  the  year-books  merely  say 
that  he  was  drawn  and  hanged.  A  sentence  in  those  days,  when  the 
notions  and  punishment  of  treason  (notwithstanding  the  statute  of 
Edward)  remained  still  unsettled,  is  no  very  unequivocal  proof  that 
his  crime  was  petit  treason. 

#  #  *  *  #  x  * 

"  The  gentleman  next  tried  the  case  of  Sir  Nicholas  Throgmorton's 
sufferings,  as  they  are  represented  as  a  G-orgon's  head  by  Judge 
Tucker,  not  as  an  illustration  of  the  law,  but  by  way  of  exciting  our 
horror  against  a  corrupt  judge.  We  do  not  rely  upon  the  authority 
of  that  case.  What  can  be  the  motives  which  the  gentleman  had  in 
view,  in  reading  this  case  with  a  countenance  and  cadence  of  such 
peculiar  pathos  ?  Was  it  to  excite  our  sympathies,  under  the  hope 
that  our  apprehensions  and  feelings  when  once  set  afloat  might,  for 
the  want  of  some  other  living  object,  be  graciously  transferred  to  his 
client  ? 

It  was  with  the  same  view,  I  presume,  that  the  gentleman  gave  us 
the  pathetic  and  affecting  story  of  lady  Lisle,  as  it  is  touched  by  the 
elegant,  chaste  and  delicate  pencil  of  Hume.  It  was  with  the  same 
views,  also,  that  he  recited  from  the  same  author,  the  deep,  perfidious 
and  bloody  horrors  of  a  Kirk  and  a  Jefferies.  Sensible  that  there 
was  nothing  in  the  virtues  of  his  client,  or  in  this  cause,  to  interest 
us,  he  borrowed  the  sufferings  and  the  virtues  of  a  Throgmorton  and 
a  lady  Lisle,  to  enlist  our  affections  and  set  our  hearts  a  bleeding, 
hoping  that  our  pity  thus  excited  might  be  transferred  and  attached 
to  his  client.  I  hope  that  we  feel  as  much  horror  at  the  infernal 
depravity  of  Judge  Bromley,  and  the  sanguinary  and  execrable 
tyranny  of  Judge  Jefferies,  as  they  or  any  other  gentlemen  can  feel. 
But  these  cases  do  not  apply  to  merciful  and  immaculate  judges.  We 
cannot  think  it  very  complimentary  or  respectful  to  this  court,  to 
adduce  such  cases.  They  seem  to  be  held  up  in  terrorem,  from  an 
apprehension  that  their  authority  would  be  admitted  here;  but  we 
apprehend  no  such  consequence. 

"But  he  says  that  since  the  revolution  of  1688,  the  British  de 
cisions  have  leaned  the  other  way,  and  go  to  show  that  accessorial  acts 
do  not  make  a  principal  in  treason.  How  is  this  conclusion  obtained  ? 
By  any  adjudged  case  ?  No.  By  any  obiter  dictum  of  a  judge  ? 
No.  How  then  does  the  gentleman  support  the  idea  of  this  change 
in  the  English  law  ?  He  has  drawn  the  reference  from  the  impunity 


CHAP.  XIV.]  WIRT'S  SPEECH.  175 

of  those  who  aided  the  Pretender,  who  fought  his  battles  or  aided 
him  in  his  flight.  This  is  a  new  way  of  settling  legal  principles. 
Sir,  this  was  the  mere  policy  of  the  house  of  Hanover.  The  pre 
tensions  of  the  Stuarts  had  divided  the  British  nation.  Their  adhe 
rents  were  many  and  zealous.  Their  pretensions  were  crushed  in 
battle.  Two  courses  were  open  to  the  reigning  monarch  :  either  by 
clemency  and  forbearance,  to  assuage  the  animosity  of  his  enemies 
and  brace  his  throne  with  the  affections  of  his  people ;  or  to  pursue 
his  enemies  with  vengeance,  to  drive  them  to  desperation ;  to  disgust 
his  friends  by  needless  and  wanton  cruelty,  and  to  unsettle  and  float 
his  throne  in  the  blood  of  his  subjects.  He  chose  the  former  course ; 
and  because  either  from  magnanimity  or  policy,  or  both,  he  spared 
them,  he  supposes  that  the  law  of  treason  was  changed,  and  that  they 
could  not  be  punished.  To  prevent  this  inference,  according  to  the 
reasoning  of  the  gentleman,  it  was  necessary  to  have  beheaded  or 
hung  up  every  human  being  who  even  aided  the  unfortunate  Charles 
in  his  flight.  Mr.  Wickham  has  mentioned  Miss  Macdonald ;  and  he 
would  have  the  monarch  to  have  hazarded  the  indignation  and  revolt 
of  a  generous  people,  by  seizing  that  beautiful  and  romantic  enthu 
siast,  Flora  Macdonald,  and  dragging  her  from  her  native  mountains 
in  the  isle  of  Sky  to  a  prison  and  to  death  !  The  truth  is,  as  we  are 
told  by  Doctor  Johnson  in  his  tour  to  the  Hebrides,  that  this  step,  im 
politic  as  it  was,  nevertheless  was  hazarded,  though  but  partially. 
She  was  carried  to  London,  but,  together  with  M'Cleod  who  had  aided 
in  the  same  flight,  was  dismissed  on  the  pretext  of  the  want  of  evi 
dence.  But  certainly  the  forbearance  of  the  house  of  Hanover  to 
punish  under  an  existing  law  is  no  argument  of  the  change  of  that 
law." 

The  argument  here  runs  into  a  long  and  minute  course  of  reason 
ing,  and  examination  of  authorities  upon  the  law  relating  to  principals 
and  accessories,  from  which  I  forbear  to  make  extracts. 

We  proceed  to  other  passages  of  more  interest.  In  one  of  these 
the  reader  will  recognize  a  portion  of  the  speech  which  has  been  often 
quoted  for  the  vivid  and  felicitous  picture  it  presents  of  the  principal 
coadjutor  in  the  conspiracy,  and  its  prominent  victim — Herman  Blen- 
nerhasset.  To  this  poetical  tribute  of  the  prosecuting  counsel,  which 
the  newspaper-press  of  the  day  made  so  popular  through  the  country, 
we  may  ascribe,  in  great  part,  that  large  amount  of  public  sympathy 
by  which  Blennerhasset's  participation  in  the  nefarious  scheme  was 
palliated  and  excused. 

"  I  come  now,  sir,  to  the  gentleman's  third  point,  in  which  he  says 
he  cannot  possibly  fail.  It  is  this :  '  because  if  the  prisoner  be  a 
prncipal  in  the  treason  at  all,  he  is  a  principal  in  the  second  degree ; 


176  WIRT'S  SPEECH.  [1807. 

and  his  guilt  being  of  that  kind  which  is  termed  derivative,  no  further 
parol  evidence  can  be  let  in  to  charge  him,  until  we  show  a  record  of 
the  conviction  of  the  principals  in  the  first  degree/ 

"  By  this  I  understand  the  gentleman  to  advance,  in  other  terms, 
the  common  law  doctrine,  that  when  a  man  is  rendered  a  principal  in 
treason,  by  acts  which  would  make  him  an  accessory  in  felony,  he 
cannot  be  tried  before  the  principal  in  the  first  degree. 

"  I  understand  this  to  be  the  doctrine  of  the  common  law,  as  esta 
blished  by  all  the  authorities ;  but  when  I  concede  this  point,  I  insist 
that  it  can  have  no  effect  in  favour  of  the  accused,  for  two  reasons : 

"  1st.  Because  it  is  the  mere  creature  of  the  common  law. 

"  2dly.  Because  if  the  common  law  of  England  be  our  law,  this 
position  assumes  what  is  denied,  that  the  conduct  of  the  prisoner  in 
this  case  is  of  an  accessorial  nature  or  such  as  would  make  him  an 
accessory  in  felony. 

"  First.  Because  this  position  is  the  mere  creature  of  the  common 
law.  If  it  be  so,  no  consequence  can  be  deduced  from  it.  It  is  suf 
ficient,  on  this  branch  of  the  subject,  to  take  his  own  declaration,  that 
the  common  law  does  not  exist  in  this  country.  If  we  examine  the 
Constitution  and  the  act  of  Congress,  we  shall  find  that  this  idea  of  a 
distinction  between  principals  in  the  first  and  second  degree  depends 
entirely  on  the  common  law.  Neither  the  Constitution  nor  the  act 
of  Congress  knows  any  such  distinction.  Jill  who  levy  war  against 
the  United  States,  whether  present  or  absent — all  who  are  leagued 
in  the  conspiracy,  whether  on  the  spot  of  the  assemblage  or  perform 
ing  some  minute  and  inconsiderable  part  in  it,  a  thousand  miles  from 
the  scene  of  action,  incur  equally  the  sentence  of  the  law :  they  are 
all  equally  traitors.  This  scale,  therefore,  which  graduates  the  guilt 
of  the  offenders  and  establishes  the  order  of  their  respective  trials,  if 
it  ever  existed  here,  is  completely  abrogated  by  the  highest  authorities 
in  this  country.  The  Convention  which  formed  the  Constitution  and 
defined  treason,  Congress  which  legislated  on  that  subject,  and  the 
Supreme  Judiciary  of  the  country  expounding  the  Constitution  and 
the  law,  have  united  in  its  abrogation.  But  let  us  for  a  moment  put 
the  Convention,  Congress,  and  the  Judiciary  aside,  and  examine  how 
the  case  will  stand.  Still  this  scale  of  moral  guilt,  which  Mr.  Wick- 
ham  has  given  us,  is  the  creature  of  the  common  law,  which  as  already 
observed,  he  himself  in  another  branch  of  his  argument  has  emphati 
cally  told  us  does  not  exist  in  this  country.  He  has  stated  that  the 
creature  presupposes  the  creator,  and  that  where  the  creator  does  not 
exist,  the  creature  cannot.  The  common  law  then  being  the  creator 
of  the  rule  which  Mr.  Wickham  has  given  us,  and  that  common  law 
not  existing  in  this  country,  neither  can  the  rule  which  is  the  mere 
creature  of  it  exist  in  this  country.  So  that  the  gentleman  has  him 
self  furnished  the  argument,  which  refutes  this  infallible  point  of  his, 
on  which  he  has  so  much  relied.  But  to  try  this  position  to  its  utmost 


CHAP.  XIV.]  WIRT'S  SPEECH.  177 

extent,  let  us  not  only  put  aside  the  Constitution  and  act  of  Congress 
and  decision  of  the  Supreme  Court,  but  let  us  admit  that  the  common 
law  does  exist  here.  Still  before  the  principle  could  apply,  it  would 
remain  to  be  proven,  that  the  conduct  of  the  prisoner  in  this  case  has 
been  accessorial ;  or  in  other  words,  that  his  acts  in  relation  to  this 
treason  are  of  such  a  nature  as  would  make  him  an  accessory  in 
felony. 

"  But  is  this  the  case?  It  is  a  mere  petitio  principii.  It  is  denied 
that  his  acts  are  such  as  would  make  him  an  accessory  in  felony.  I 
have  already,  in  another  branch  of  this  subject,  endeavoured  to  show, 
on  the  grounds  of  authority  and  reason,  that  a  man  might  be  involved 
in  the  guilt  of  treason  as  a  principal,  by  being  legally,  though  not 
actually  present;  that  treason  occupied  a  much  wider  space  than 
felony ;  that  the  scale  of  proximity  between  the  accessory  and  the 
principal  must  be  extended  in  proportion  to  the  extent  of  the  theatre 
of  the  treason  \  and  that,  as  the  prisoner  must  be  considered  as  legally 
present,  he  could  not  be  an  accessory,  but  a  principal.  If  I  have  suc 
ceeded  in  this,  I  have  in  fact  proved  that  his  conduct  cannot  be  deemed 
accessorial.  But  an  error  has  taken  place  from  considering  the  scene 
of  the  overt  act  as  the  theatre  of  the  treason ;  from  mistaking  the  overt 
act  for  the  treason  itself,  and  consequently  from  referring  the  conduct 
of  the  prisoner  to  the  acts  on  the  island.  The  conduct  of  Aaron  Burr 
has  been  considered  in  relation  to  the  overt  act  on  Blennerhasset' s 
island  only ;  whereas  it  ought  to  be  considered  in  connection  with  the 
grand  design,  the  deep  plot  of  seizing  Orleans,  separating  the  Union, 
and  establishing  an  independent  empire  in  the  west,  of  which  the  pri 
soner  was  to  be  the  chief.  It  ought  to  be  recollected  that  these  were 
his  objects,  and  that  the  whole  western  country,  from  Beaver  to  Or 
leans,  was  the  theatre  of  his  treasonable  operations.  It  is  by  this  first 
reasoning  that  you  are  to  consider  whether  he  be  a  principal  or  an 
accessory,  and  not  by  limiting  your  inquiries  to  the  circumscribed  and 
narrow  spot  in  the  island  where  the  acts  charged  happened  to  be  per- 
furined.  Having  shown,  I  think,  on  the  ground  of  law,  that  the  pri 
soner  cannot  be  considered  as  an  accessory,  let  me  press  the  inquiry 
whether,  on  the  ground  of  reason,  he  be  a  principal  or  an  accessory : 
and  remember  that  his  project  was  to  seize  New  Orleans,  separate  the 
Union,  and  erect  an  independent  empire  in  the  west,  of  which  he  was 
to  be  the  chief.  This  was  the  destination  of  the  plot  and  the  conclu 
sion  of  the  drama.  Will  any  man  say  that  Blennerhasset  was  the 
principal,  and  Burr  but  an  accessory?  Who  will  believe  that  Burr, 
tlio  author  and  projector  of  the  plot,  who  raised  the  forces,  who  enlisted 
the  men,  and  who  procured  the  funds  for  carrying  it  into  execution, 
was  made  a  cat's-paw  of?  Will  any  man  believe  that  Burr,  who  is  a 
soldier,  bold,  ardent,  restless  and  aspiring,  the  great  actor  whose  brain 
conceived  and  whose  hand  brought  the  plot  into  operation,  that  ho 
should  sink  down  into  an  accessory,  and  that  Blennerhasset  should 

M 


178  WIRT'S  SPEECH.  [1807. 

be  elevated  into  a  principal  ?  He  would  startle  at  once  at  the  thought. 
Aaron  Burr,  the  contriver  of  the  whole  conspiracy,  to  everybody  con 
cerned  in  it,  was  as  the  sun  to  the  planets  which  surround  him.  Did 
he  not  bind  them  in  their  respective  orbits,  and  give  them  their  light, 
their  heat  and  their  motion  ?  Yet  he  is  to  be  considered  an  accessory, 
and  Blennerhasset  is  to  be  the  principal ! 

"  Let  us  put  the  case  between  Burr  and  Blennerhasset.  Let  us 
compare  the  two  men,  and  settle  this  question  of  precedence  between 
them.  It  may  save  a  good  deal  of  troublesome  ceremony  hereafter. 

"  Who  Aaron  Burr  is,  we  have  seen,  in  part,  already.  I  will  add 
that,  beginning  his  operations  in  New  York,  he  associates  with  him 
men  whose  wealth  is  to  supply  the  necessary  funds.  Possessed  of  the 
mainspring,  his  personal  labour  contrives  all  the  machinery.  Pervad 
ing  the  continent  from  New  York  to  New  Orleans,  he  draws  into  his 
plan,  by  every  allurement  which  he  can  contrive,  men  of  all  ranks  and 
descriptions.  To  youthful  ardour  he  presents  danger  and  glory ;  to 
ambition,  rank  and  titles  and  honours ;  to  avarice,  the  mines  of  Mexico. 
To  each  person  whom  he  addresses  he  presents  the  object  adapted  to 
his  taste.  His  recruiting  officers  are  appointed.  Men  are  engaged 
throughout  the  continent.  Civil  life  is,  indeed,  quiet  upon  its  surface, 
but  in  its  bosom  this  man  has  contrived  to  deposit  the  materials  which, 
with  the  slightest  touch  of  his  match,  produce  an  explosion  to  shake 
the  continent.  All  this  his  restless  ambition  has  contrived ;  and  in 
the  autumn  of  1806,  he  goes  forth,  for  the  last  time,  to  apply  this 
match.  On  this  occasion  he  meets  with  Blennerhasset. 

"  Who  is  Blennerhasset  ?  A  native  of  Ireland ;  a  man  of  letters, 
who  fled  from  the  storms  of  his  own  country  to  find  quiet  in  ours. 
His  history  shows  that  war  is  not  the  natural  element  of  his  mind. 
If  it  had  been,  he  never  would  have  exchanged  Ireland  for  America. 
So  far  is  an  army  from  furnishing  the  society  natural  and  proper  to 
Mr.  Blennerhasset' s  character,  that  on  his  arrival  in  America,  he 
retired  even  from  the  population  of  the  Atlantic  states,  and  sought 
quiet  and  solitude  in  the  bosom  of  our  western  forests.  But  he  car 
ried  with  him  taste  and  science  and  wealth;  and  lo,  the  desert 
smiled !  Possessing  himself  of  a  beautiful  island  in  the  Ohio,  he 
rears  upon  it  a  palace,  and  decorates  it  with  every  romantic  embel 
lishment  of  fancy.  A  shrubbery,  that  Shenstone  might  have  envied, 
blooms  around  him.  Music,  that  might  have  charmed  Calypso  and 
her  nymphs,  is  his.  An  extensive  library  spreads  its  treasures  before 
him.  A  philosophical  apparatus  offers  to  him  all  the  secrets  and 
mysteries  of  nature.  Peace,  tranquillity  and  innocence  shed  their 
mingled  delights  around  him.  And  to  crown  the  enchantment  of  the 
scene,  a  wife,  who  is  said  to  be  lovely  even  beyond  her  sex,  and 
graced  with  every  accomplishment  that  can  render  it  irresistible,  had 
blessed  him  with  her  love  and  made  him  the  father  of  several  children. 
The  evidence  would  convince  you  that  this  is  but  a  faint  picture  of 


CHAP.  XIV.]  WIRT'S  SPEECH.  179 

the  real  life.     In  the  midst  of  all  this  peace,  this  innocent  simplicity 
and  this  tranquillity,  this  feast  of  the  mind,  this  pure  banquet  of  the 
heart,  the  destroyer  comes  \  he  conies  to  change  this  paradise  into  a 
hell.     Yet  the  flowers  do  not  wither  at  his  approach.     No  monitory 
shuddering  through  the  bosom  of  their  unfortunate  possessor  warns 
him  of  the  ruin  that  is  coming  upon  him.     A  stranger  presents  him 
self.     Introduced  to  their  civilities  by  the  high  rank  which  he  had 
lately  held  in  his  country,  he  soon  finds  his  way  to  their  hearts  by 
the  dignity  and  elegance  of  his  demeanour,  the  light  and  beauty  of 
his   conversation,  and  the   seductive   and  fascinating  power  of  his 
address.     The  conquest  was  not  difficult.     Innocence  is  ever  simple 
and  credulous.     Conscious  of  no  design  itself,  it  suspects  none  in 
others.     It  wears  no  guard  before  its  breast.     Every  door  and  portal 
and  avenue  of  the  heart  is  thrown  open,  and  all  who  choose  it  enter. 
Such  was  the  state  of  Eden  when  the  serpent  entered  its  bowers. 
The  prisoner,  in  a  more  engaging  form,  winding  himself  into  the 
open  and  unpractised  heart  of  the  unfortunate  Blennerhasset,  found 
but  little  difficulty  in  changing  the  native  character  of  that  heart  and 
the  objects  of  its  affection.     By  degrees  he  infuses  into  it  the  poison 
of  his  own  ambition.     He  breathes  into  it  the  fire  of  his  own  cou 
rage  ;  a  daring  and  desperate  thirst  for  glory ;  an  ardour  panting  for 
great  enterprises,  for  all  the  storm  and  bustle  and  hurricane  of  life. 
In  a  short  time  the  whole  man  is  changed,  and  every  object  of  his 
former  delight  is  relinquished.      No  more  he  enjoys   the  tranquil 
scene ;  it  has  become  flat  and  insipid  to  his  taste.     His  books  are 
abandoned.    His  retort  and  crucible  are  thrown  aside.    His  shrubbery 
blooms  and  breathes  its  fragrance  upon  the  air  in  vain  ;  he  likes  it 
not.     His  ear  no  longer  drinks  the  rich  melody  of  music ;  it  longs 
for  the  trumpet's  clangour  and  the  cannon's  roar.     Even  the  prattle 
of  his  babes,  once  so  sweet,  no  longer  affects  him;  and  the  angel 
smile  of  his  wife,  which  hitherto  touched  his  bosom  with  ecstasy  so 
unspeakable,  is  now  unseen  and  unfelt.     Greater  objects  have  taken 
possession  of  his  soul.     His  imagination  has  been  dazzled  by  visions 
of  diadems,  of  stars  and  garters  and  titles  of  nobility.     He  has  been 
taught  to  burn  with  restless  emulation  at  the  names  of  great  heroes 
and  conquerors.     His  enchanted  island  is  destined  soon  to  relapse 
into  a  wilderness;  and  in  a  few  months  we  find  the  beautiful  and 
tender  partner  of  his  bosom,  whom  he  lately  '  permitted  not  the  winds 
of  summer  i  to  visit  too  roughly/  we  find  her  shivering  at  midnight, 
on  the  wintery  banks  of  the  Ohio,  and  mingling  her  tears  with  the 
torrents,  that  froze  as  they  fell.     Yet  this   unfortunate  man,  thus 
deluded  from  his  interest  and  his  happiness,  thus  seduced  from  the 
paths  of  innocence  and  peace,  thus  confounded  in  the  toils  that  were 
deliberately  spread  for  him,  and  overwhelmed  by  the  mastering  spirit 
and  genius  of  another — this  man,  thus  ruined  and  undone  and  made 
to  play  a  subordinate  part  in  this  grand  drama  of  guilt  and  treason, 


180  WIRT'S  SPEECH.  [1807. 

this  man  is  to  be  called  tlie  principal  offender,  while  he,  by  whom  he 
was  thus  plunged  in  misery,  is  comparatively  innocent,  a  mere  acces 
sory  !  Is  this  reason  ?  Is  it  law  ?  Is  it  humanity  ?  Sir,  neither 
the  human  heart  nor  the  human  understanding  will  bear  a  perversion 
so  monstrous  and  absurd !  so  shocking  to  the  soul !  so  revolting  to 
reason  !  Let  Aaron  Burr  then  not  shrink  from  the  high  destination 
which  he  has  courted ;  and  having  already  ruined  Blennerhasset  in 
fortune,  character  and  happiness  forever,  let  him  not  attempt  to  finish 
the  tragedy  by  thrusting  that  ill-fated  man  between  himself  and 
punishment. 

"  Upon  the  whole,  sir,  reason  declares  Aaron  Burr  the  principal  in 
this  crime,  and  confirms  herein  the  sentence  of  the  law ;  and  the  gen 
tleman,  in  saying  that  his  offence  is  of  a  derivative  and  accessorial 
nature,  begs  the  question,  and  draws  his  conclusions  from  what,  in 
stead  of  being  conceded,  is  denied.  It  is  clear  from  what  has  been 
said,  that  Burr  did  not  derive  his  guilt  from  the  men  on  the  island, 
but  imparted  his  own  guilt  to  them ;  that  he  is  not  an  accessory,  but 
a  principal ;  and  therefore,  that  there  is  nothing  in  the  objection 
which  demands  a  record  of  their  conviction,  before  we  shall  go  on 
with  our  proof  against  him. 


"The  question  then  is,  whether,  all  these  things  admitted,  the 
assemblage  on  the  island  were  an  overt  act  of  levying  war.  Here, 
sir,  are  we  forced  most  reluctantly  to  argue  to  the  court,  on  only  a  part 
of  the  evidence,  in  presence  of  the  jury,  before  they  have  heard  the 
rest  of  the  evidence,  which  might  go  a  great  way  to  explain  or  alter 
its  effect.  But  unpleasant  as  the  question  is  in  this  way,  we  must 
meet  it.  What  is  an  open  act  of  levying  war  ?  To  which  we  are 
obliged  to  answer,  that  it  must  be  decided  by  the  Constitution  and  act 
of  Congress. 

(( Gentlemen  on  the  other  side,  speaking  on  this  subject,  have  asked 
us  for  battles,  bloody  battles,  hard  knocks,  the  noise  of  cannon. 
1  Show  us  your  open  acts  of  war/  they  exclaim.  Hard  knocks,  says 
one,  are  things  we  can  all  feel  and  understand.  Where  was  the  open 
deed  of  war,  this  bloody  battle,  this  bloody  war  ?  cries  another.  No 
where,  gentlemen.  There  was  no  bloody  battle.  There  was  no  bloody 
war.  The  energy  of  a  despised  and  traduced  government  prevented 
that  tragical  consequence.  In  reply  to  all  this  blustering  and  clamour 
for  blood  and  havoc,  let  me  ask  calmly  and  temperately,  does  our  Con 
stitution  and  act  of  Congress  require  them  ?  Can  treason  be  com 
mitted  by  nothing  short  of  actual  battle  ?  Mr.  Wickham,  shrinking 
from  a  position  so  bold  and  indefensible,  has  said  that  if  there  be  not 
actual  force,  there  must  be  at  least  potential  force,  such  as  terror  and 
intimidation  struck  by  the  treasonable  assemblage.  We  will  examine 
this  idea  presently.  Let  us,  at  this  moment,  recur  to  the  constitu- 


CHAP.  XIV.]  WIRT'S  SPEECH.  181 

tional  definition  of  treason,  or  to  so  much  thereof  as  relates  to  this 
case.  t  Treason  against  the  United  States  shall  consist  only  in  levy 
ing  war  against  them/  not  in  making  war,  but  in  levying  it.  The 
whole  question  then  turns  on  the  meaning  of  that  word,  levying. 
This  word,  however,  the  gentlemen  on  the  other  side  have  artfully 
dropped :  as  if  conscious  of  its  operation  against  them,  they  have 
entirely  omitted  to  use  it. 

"  We  know  that  ours  is  a  motley  language,  variegated  and  enriched 
by  the  plunder  of  many  foreign  stores.  When  we  derive  a  word  from 
the  Greek,  the  Latin,  or  any  other  foreign  language,  living  or  dead, 
philolologists  have  always  thought  it  most  safe  and  correct  to  go  to  the 
original  language,  for  the  purpose  of  ascertaining  the  precise  meaning 
of  such  word.  Levy,  we  are  told  by  all  our  lexicographers,  is  a  word 
of  French  origin.  It  is  proper,  therefore,  that  we  should  turn  to  the 
dictionary  of  that  language,  to  ascertain  its  true  and  real  meaning ; 
and  I  believe  we  shall  not  find  that  when  applied  to  war,  it  ever  means 
to  fight,  as  the  gentlemen  on  the  other  side  would  have  us  to  believe. 
Boyer's  Dictionary  is  before  me,  sir,  and  I  am  the  more  encouraged 
to  appeal  to  him,  because,  in  the  case  of  Bollman  and  Swartwout,  your 
Honour,  in  estimating  the  import  of  this  very  word,  thought  it  not 
improper  to  refer  to  the  authority  of  Dr.  Johnson. 

"  '  Lever J  the  verb  active,  signifies,  according  to  Boyer,  l  to  lift, 
heave,  hold  or  raise  up/  Under  the  verb  he  has  no  phrase  applicable 
to  our  purpose  :  but  under  the  substantive,  levee,  he  has  several.  I 
will  give  you  them  all. 

"  Levee  d'un  siege,  the  raising  of  a  siege.  Levee  des  fruits,  gath 
ering  of  fruits,  crop,  harvest. 

"  Levee  du  parlement  Britannique,  the  rising  or  recess  of  the 
British  Parliament.  Levee  (collecte  de  dtniers)  a  levy-raising,  or 
gathering. 

"  Levee  de  gens  de  guerre,  levying,  levy,  or  raising  of  soldiers. 
Faire  des  levees  de  soldats,  to  levy  or  raise  soldiers. 

"  So  that  when  applied  to  fruits  or  taxes,  it  means  gathering  as 
well  as  raising.  When  applied  to  soldiers  it  means  raising  only,  not 
gathering,  assembling  or  even  bringing  them  together,  but  merely 
raising.  Johnson  takes  both  these  meanings,  as  you  mentioned  in 
the  case  of  Bollman  and  Swartwout ;  but  in  the  original  language,  we 
see  that  levying,  when  applied  to  soldiers,  means  simply  the  raising 
them,  without  any  thing  further.  In  military  matters,  levying  and 
raising,  if  Boyer  may  be  trusted,  are  synonymous. 

"  But  to  ascertain  still  more  satisfactorily  the  meaning  of  this  word 
levy,  let  us  look  to  the  source  from  which  we  have  borrowed  the  whole 
definition  of  treason,  the  statute  of  25  Edward  III.  The  statute  is 
in  Norman  French,  and,  in  describing  the  treason  of  levying  war,  uses 
these  words ;  '  Si  home  leve  de  guerre,  contre  noslre  seigneur  le  roy 
en  son  royalme.' 

VOL.  L  — 16 


182  WIRT'S  SPEECH.  [1807. 

"  In  a  subsequent  reign,  I  mean  the  factious  and  turbulent  reign 
of  Kichard  II.,  when  the  statute  of  Edward,  although  unrepealed,  was 
forgotten,  lost  and  buried  under  the  billows  of  party  rage  and  ven 
geance,  it  became,  at  length,  necessary  for  parliament  to  interfere  and 
break  in  pieces  the  engine  of  destructive  treason ;  and  in  the  21st 
year  of  Richard  II.,  a  statute  was  passed,  which  may  be  considered 
as  a  parliamentary  construction  of  that  of  Edward  III.  In  that 
statute,  the  treason  of  levying  war  is  thus  explained, {  Celuy  que  levy 
le  peuple  et  chevache  encounter  le  roy  dfaire  guerre  deins  son  realme.' 
Here  the  French  verb,  leve,  is  the  same  as  that  used  in  the  statute  of 
Edward,  with  an  unimportant  orthographic  variation ;  and  here  it  is 
clearly  contradistinguished  from  the  actual  war.  The  hvy  is  of  men 
and  horses,  for  the  purpose  of  making  war ;  and  the  levy  would  have 
been  complete,  although  the  purpose  had  never  been  executed.  I 
consider,  therefore,  the  statute  of  Richard,  as  not  only  adding  another 
authority  to  Boyer,  to  prove  that  the  extent  of  the  French  verb  /ever, 
when  applied  to  soldiers,  goes  no  farther  than  the  raising  them ;  but 
I  consider  that  statute  also  as  a  parliamentary  exposition  or  glossary 
of  the  phrase  levy  de  guerre,  in  the  statute  of  Edward. 

*  #  #  *  *  * 

"  Mr.  Lee  says,  that  hard  knocks  are  things  we  can  all  feel,  yet  it 
is  equally  true  that  an  assemblage  of  men  is  an  object  we  can  all  see. 
True  it  is,  as  the  gentleman  says,  that  cannons  and  small-arms  may  be 
heard ;  and  so  may  the  disclosure  of  a  treasonable  plot.  At  last,  the 
overt  act  which  they  require  is  but  an  appeal  to  the  human  senses ; 
and  the  overt  act  which  we  have  proven  is  equally  satisfactory  to  them. 
Why  do  they  insist  on  calling  in  the  sense  of  feeling  to  the  sense  of 
hearing?  He  may  say,  if  we  were  to  feel  it,  that  we  must  also  taste 
and  smell  it.  Mr.  Wickham  indeed  complains,  that  if  you  stop  him 
short  of  actual  force,  you  take  away  the  locus  pamitenticB.  I  say,  if 
you  do  not  stop  short  of  it,  you  take  away  the  motive  of  repentance ; 
for  you  offer  the  traitor  victory  and  triumph,  and  it  is  not  in  //teiYarms 
that  we  are  to  expect  from  him  repentance.  But  was  there,  sir,  no 
opportunity  for  repentance  in  this  case?  We  shall  prove  that  the 
prisoner  was  for  more  than  a  year  brooding  over  this  treason.  The 
ruin  and  desolation  that  he  was  about  to  bring  upon  this  country,  must 
have  been  often  before  him.  If  all  love  of  his  country  were  so  far 
extinguished  in  his  breast,  that  he  could  not  forbear,  if  the  downfall 
of  liberty  and  the  horrors  of  civil  war  gave  no  pang  of  remorse  to 
his  bosom,  why,  for  his  own  sake,  did  he  not  repent  ?  Why  did  he 
not  remember  Cromwell,  and  the  treason  and  fate  of  Caesar  ? — Crom 
well,  as  bold  and  daring  as  himself;  the  miserable  effects  of  his  suc 
cessful  usurpation ;  the  terrors  that  haunted  and  scourged  him  day 
and  night,  and  blasted  him  even  amidst  the  splendour  of  a  palace. 
Caesar  and  Cromwell  he  did  not  forget ;  but  he  remembered  them  as 
objects  of  competition  and  rivalship;  not  to  detest  and  abhor;  but  to 


.  XIV.]  WIRT'S  SPEECH.  183 

envy,  admire  and  emulate.  Such  was  the  kind  of  remorse  which  he 
felt  at  the  idea  of  drenching  his  country  in  blood,  and  substituting 
despotism  for  liberty ;  such  the  very  promising  disposition  and  temper 
for  repentance  which  alone  he  manifested. 

"  Mr.  Randolph  wishes  to  know  how  the  line  can  be  drawn  be 
tween  enlisting  and  striking  a  blow.  The  answer  is  obvious  :  Al  the, 
point  of  the  assemblage,  where  the  courts  of  England  and  the  high 
est  court  in  this  country  have  concurred  in  drawing  it.  A  line  strong 
and  plain  enough  to  be  seen  and  known  is  drawn.  Does  reason,  sir, 
require  that  you  should  wait  until  the  blow  be  struck  ?  If  so,  adieu 
to  the  law  of  treason  and  to  the  chance  of  punishment.  The  aspiring 
traitor  has  only  to  lay  his  plans,  assemble  his  forces  and  strike  no 
blow  till  he  be  in  such  power  as  to  defy  resistance.  He  understands 
the  law  of  treason.  He  draws  a  line  of  demarcation  for  the  purpose 
of  keeping  within  the  boundary  of  the  law.  He  projects  an  enter 
prise  of  treason.  He  enlists  men.  He  directs  all  the  operations  es 
sential  to  its  success  from  one  end  of  the  continent  to  the  other ;  but 
he  keeps  himself  within  the  pale  of  the  law.  He  goes  on  continually 
acquiring  accessions  of  strength,  like  a  snowball  on  the  side  of  a  moun 
tain,  till  he  becomes  too  large  for  resistance,  and  sweeps  every  thing 
before  him.  He  does  every  thing  short  of  striking  a  blow.  He  ad 
vances  till  he  gets  to  New  Orleans.  He  does  not  hazard  the  blow 
till  he  is  completely  ready ;  and  when  he  does  strike,  it  will  be  abso 
lutely  irresistible.  Then  what  becomes  of  your  Constitution,  your 
law  of  Congress  or  your  courts  ?  He  laughs  them  to  scorn.  Is  this 
the  way  to  discourage  treason  ?  Is  it  not  the  best  way  to  excite  and 
promote  it?  to  insure  it  the  most  complete  success?  I  conclude, 
therefore,  that  reason  does  not  require  force  to  constitute  treason. 
*  -x-  •*  #•  •&  #• 

"  This  court,  then,  having  itself  decided  that  the  question,  whether 
there  have  been  an  overt  act  or  not,  belongs  essentially  to  the  jury,  it 
is  strange  that  the  prisoner  should  persist  in  pressing  it  on  the  court. 
What  does  he  mean  by  calling  on  the  court  to  decide  on  the  fact  of 
levying  war?  Have  you  the  power,  sir?  I  should  like  to  know 
where  the  authority  can  be  found  to  prove  that  you  have  it.  And 
suppose  the  court  thinks  it  has  this  power,  and  should  exert  it,  what 
will  be  the  consequences  ?  Will  it  not  take  away  from  the  jury  their 
acknowledged  right  of  deciding  on  facts  ?  But  the  anxious  persever 
ance  of  the  prisoner  in  this  course  certainly  implies  a  reflection,  either 
on  the  jury  or  the  court;  it  implies  either  that  the  jury  will  not  do 
him  justice,  or  that  the  court  will  do  him  more  than  justice.  If  he 
believed  the  jury  would  do  him  justice,  and  wished  nothing  more,  he 
would  be  content  to  leave  his  case  to  them.  If  he  believed  they 
would  not  do  him  justice,  and  he  therefore  tries  to  force  his  cause 
before  the  court,  whether  it  will  or  no,  I  may  truly  say,  that  he  exhi 
bits  a  phenomenon  unprecedented  upon  this  earth  :  a  man  flying  from 


184  WIRT'S  SPEECH.  [1807. 

a  jury  of  his  peers  to  take  refuge  under  the  wings  of  the  court !  Sir, 
I  can  never  think  so  ill  of  my  countrymen  as  to  believe  that  innocence 
need  fly  from  them ;  nor  will  my  respect  for  the  court  permit  me,  for 
a  moment,  to  apprehend  that  it  will  invade  the  peculiar  and  acknow 
ledged  province  of  the  jury.  This  court  well  knows  that  my  respect 
for  its  members,  as  private  gentlemen  and  officially,  is  too  great  to 
apprehend  that  remarks  of  a  general  nature  will  be  applied  to  them. 
But  if,  at  this  period,  when  the  bench  is  so  distinguished  by  intellect 
ual  power  and  superior  illumination,  a  precedent  be  set,  by  which  the 
great  fact  in  trial  for  life  and  death  shall  be  wrested  from  the  jury 
and  decided  by  the  bench,  what  use  may  not  be  made  of  it  hereafter  ? 
In  the  fluctuations  of  party,  in  the  bitterness  of  rancour  and  politi 
cal  animosity,  the  judges  may  lead  juries  to  one  side  or  the  other,  a,s 
they  may  think  proper.  They  may  dictate  as  to  the  existence  of  an 
overt  act,  and  thus  decide  the  fate  of  a  prisoner.  If  a  judge  sitting 
on  the  bench  shall  decide  on  facts  as  well  as  law  in  a  prosecution  for 
treason,  he  may  sacrifice  or  rescue  whom  he  pleases.  If  he  be  a  poli 
tical  partisan,  he  may  save  his  friends  from  merited  punishment,  or 
blast  his  foes  unjustly.  If  judges  in  future  times,  not  having  the 
feelings  of  humanity  and  patriotism  which  they  have  in  these  days, 
but  animated  by  the  zeal  and  factious  spirit  of  party,  to  promote  the 
views  of  party,  shall  have  the  power  now  proposed  to  be  exercised, 
what  will  be  the  posture  and  fate  of  this  country  then  ?  If  you  esta 
blish  this  precedent,  some  tyrant  Bromley  or  some  ruffian  Jejferies 
may  mount  the  bench.  Can  the  soul  look  forward  without  horror  to 
the  dark  and  bloody  deeds  which  he  might  perpetrate,  armed  with 
such  a  precedent  as  you  are  now  called  on  to  set?  But  you  will  not 
set  it,  sir.  You  will  not  bring  your  country  to  see  an  hour  so  fearful 
and  perilous  as  that  which  shall  witness  the  ruin  of  the  trial  by  jury. 
I  shudder  to  reflect  what  might  be  the  consequences  of  such  an  hour. 
You  will  cast  your  eyes  into  futurity,  and,  foreseeing  the  calamities 
that  must  result  from  so  dangerous  an  example,  will  avoid  it.  You 
will  be  satisfied  that  neither  reason  nor  the  laws  of  England  or  of  this 
country  support  the  doctrine,  that  you  have  the  power  to  prevent  this 
jury  from  proceeding  in  their  inquiry,  merely  because  your  mind  is 
satisfied  that  the  overt  act  is  not  proved. 

"All  the  distinctions  which  Mr.  Wickham  and  Mr.  Randolph  have 
taken,  have  gone  on  the  dangers  of  constructive  treason.  All  their 
apprehensions  on  this  subject  seem  to  me  to  be  perfectly  visionary. 
They  appear  to  result  from  this  mistake  : — they  look  at  the  dangers 
of  constructive  treason  under  the  common  law,  anterior  to  the  statute 
of  Edward.  They  look  into  the  terrors  expressed  by  Hale,  when  he 
enumerates  the  many  various  kinds  of  treason,  before  that  statute 
limited  the  number.  The  meaning  of  constructive  treason  is  generally 
misconceived.  It  is  well  explained  in  1  East's  Crown  Law,  p.  72 : 
'  Constructive  Levying  of  War  is  in  truth  more  directed  against  the 


CHAP.  XIV.]  VVIRT'S  SPEECH.  185 

government  than  the  person  of  the  king,  though,  in  legal  construction, 
it  is  a  levying  of  war  against  the  king  himself.  This  is  when  an 
insurrection  is  raised  to  reform  some  national  grievance,  to  alter  the 
established  laws  or  religion,  to  punish  magistrates,  to  introduce  inno 
vations  of  a  public  concern,  to  obstruct  the  execution  of  some  general 
law  by  an  armed  force,  or  for  any  other  purpose  which  usurps  the 
government  in  matters  of  a  public  and  general  concern?  It  is  there 
fore  true,  as  laid  down  by  Mr.  Rawle  in  Fries' s  trial,  p.  161,  t  that 
what  in  England  is  called  constructive  levying  of  war,  in  this  country 
must  be  called  direct  levying  of  war/  Although  this  seems  not  to 
be  assented  to  by  Judge  Tucker,  (4th  Tucker's  Blackstone,  Jlppen- 
dix,  13,  14,)  possibly  because  he  did  not  examine  that  point  as  tho 
roughly  as  he  did  the  doctrine  of  treason  generally. 

"  Before  that  statute  passed,  the  dangers  resulting  from  arbitrary 
constructions  of  treason  were  great  and  grievous,  and  the  complaints 
against  them  as  vehement  as  they  were  just.  Levying  war  in  Eng 
land  against  the  king  or  his  government,  the  l  crimen  l&sa  majesta- 
tisj  consists  of  direct  and  express  levying  of  war  against  the  king's 
natural  person ;  constructive,  levying  it  against  his  government  or  his 
authority  in  his  political  person.  In  America,  the  crime  is  defined 
in  the  Constitution.  It  consists  in  levying  war  against  the  United 
States.  In  England,  it  consists  in  an  opposition  to  the  king's  autho 
rity  or  prerogative.  Here  it  is  against  the  Constitution  and  govern 
ment.  In  England,  when  it  is  intended  against  the  life  of  the  prince, 
it  may  consist  in  mere  imagination,  in  the  mere  design  or  intent  of 
the  mind.  But  in  this  country  the  offence  is  against  the  government, 
the  political  person  only ;  and  it  is  actual  war.  As  it  is  against  the 
government,  not  against  a  natural  person,  it  may  be  said  to  be  con 
structive.  But  constructive  interpretations  of  treason,  which  produced 
so  much  terror  and  alarm  formerly  in  England,  and  against  the  abuses 
of  which  gentlemen  have  declaimed  so  pathetically,  cannot  take  place 
in  this  country.  They  are  expressly  excluded  by  the  Constitution. 
Upon  the  whole,  I  contend,  that  the  meeting  on  Blennerhasset's 
island,  the  intention  of  which  is  proven  to  be  traitorous,  was  an  act 
of  treason;  that  the  assemblage,  with  such  intention,  was  sufficient 
for  that  purpose.  And  if  it  were  not  sufficient,  this  court  cannot  stop 
the  proceedings.  The  jury  must  proceed  with  the  inquiry. 

"  I  have  finished  what  I  had  to  say.  I  beg  pardon  for  consuming 
the  time  of  the  court  so  long.  I  thank  it  for  its  patient  and  polite 
attention.  I  am  too  much  exhausted  to  recapitulate,  and  to  such  a 
court  as  this  is,  I  am  sure  it  is  unnecessary." 

This  is  an  exhibition  of  some  of  the  most  prominent  passages,  of  a 
speech  which  fills  seventy  pages  of  an  octavo  volume,  and  which  oc 
cupied  several  hours  in  the  delivery.     I  have  excluded  from  thesf 
16* 


186  WIRT'S  SPEECH.  [1807. 

extracts  a  large  portion  of  the  argument,  which,  dealing  principally 
in  minute  discriminations  of  technical  law,  and  in  the  analysis  of  legal 
decisions,  could  scarcely  be  expected  to  interest  the  general  reader, 
and  which  would  be  still  less  satisfactory  to  members  of  the  legal  pro 
fession  who  have  familiar  access  to  the  full  report  of  the  trial. 

It  may  be  remarked  of  this  speech,  that  having  been  made  at  a 
time  when  the  speaker  was  yet  in  the  vigour  of  youthful  manhood, 
and  somewhat  noted  for  the  vivacity  of  his  imagination  and  the  warmth 
of  his  feelings,  he  may  be  supposed  to  have  made  this  effort  at  disad 
vantage,  under  the  restraints  necessarily  imposed  upon  him  by  the 
nature  of  the  subject  and  the  forum  to  which  he  spoke.  It  was  an 
argument  upon  mere  questions  of  law,  sufficiently  abstruse  and  tech 
nical  in  their  nature  to  forbid  any  very  free  excursion  of  the  fancy, 
and  to  defy  the  attractions  of  declamation.  The  orator,  addressing 
himself  to  the  most  severe  and  disciplined  mind  in  the  judiciary  of 
the  nation,  doubtless  felt  his  inclination  constantly  rebuked  by  the 
presence  in  which  he  stood.  He  could  not  lose  the  consciousness  of 
an  ever-present  constraint  imposed  upon  him  by  the  place,  and  the 
subject,  both  exacting  logical  precision  and  compact  legal  deduction. 
We  cannot  but  remark,  in  the  perusal  of  the  speech,  how  apparent  is 
the  inclination  of  the  speaker  to  escape  from  this  thraldom,  and  to 
recreate  his  mind  in  the  more  congenial  fields  of  rhetorical  display ; 
and  how  obviously  he  has  felt  the  exigency  of  the  argument,  like  a 
stone  tied  to  the  wings  of  his  fancy,  to  bring  him  quickly  back,  on 
every  flight,  to  the  labour  of  his  task.  At  that  period  in  the  life  of 
William  Wirt,  his  forensic  fame  was  much  more  connected  with  his 
efforts  before  a  jury,  than  in  discussions  addressed  to  the  bench ;  and 
we  cannot  help  feeling  some  regret,  while  speculating  upon  the  pecu 
liar  power  of  the  advocate  and  looking  alone  to  our  own  satisfaction, 
that  this  celebrated  and  important  trial  had  not  offered  him  an  occar 
sion  to  argue  the  questions  of  fact  with  which  it  abounded,  as  well  as 
the  points  of  law  to  which  we  have  adverted. 

The  description  of  the  abode  of  Blennerhasset,  which  furnished  a 
legitimate  opportunity  to  the  indulgence  of  Mr.  Wirt's  peculiar  vein 
of  eloquence  in  this  trial,  seems  to  have  inspired  one  of  the  witnesses 
with  the  same  fervour  of  poetical  rapture  in  giving  a  sketch  of  this 
woodland  paradise. 


CHAP.  XIV.]  TESTIMONY  OF  MR.  MERCER.  187 

A  most  estimable  gentleman,  who  is  yet  alive  to  recall  to  memory 
the  scenes  which  so  attracted  his  youthful  fancy, — Mr.  Charles  Fen- 
ton  Mercer, — had  visited  the  island,  upon  the  invitation  of  its  proprie 
tor,  just  at  the  time  when  the  conspiracy  was  said  to  be  nearest  its 
point  of  explosion.  As  he  had  seen  nothing  on  this  visit  calculated 
to  awaken  his  alarm  for  the  peace  of  the  country,  his  testimony  was 
introduced  into  the  trial  for  the  misdemeanor,  which  immediately  fol 
lowed  the  acquittal  on  the  charge  of  treason*.  This  testimony  was 
recorded  in  a  written  deposition,  a  few  extracts  from  which  will  gra 
tify  the  reader,  by  enabling  him  to  compare  Mr.  Wirt's  glowing  pic 
ture  with  the  actual  impression  which  the  scene  made  upon  Mr. 
Mercer. 

"  On  Saturday  evening,  the  sixth  day  of  December,  this  depo 
nent  arrived,  in  the  course  of  his  journey  home,  at  the  shore  of  Ohio, 
opposite  to  the  island  of  Mr.  Blennerhasset ;  and  having  first  learned, 
with  some  surprise,  that  Mr.  Blennerhasset  was  yet  on  the  island, 
crossed  over  to  his  house  in  a  violent  storm  of  wind  and  rain.  That 
evening  and  the  following  day  he  spent  at  the  most  elegant  seat  in 
Virginia,  in  the  society  of  Mr.  Blennerhasset  and  his  lovely  and  ac 
complished  lady. 

*  *  *  #  %  * 

"  This  deponent  having  expressed  a  desire  to  become  the  purchaser 
of  Mr.  Blennerhasset' s  farm,  he  had  the  goodness  to  show  him  the 
plan  and  arrangements  of  his  house.  Every  room  in  it  was  opened 
to  his  inspection.  As  he  walked  through  its  different  apartments,  the 
proprietor  frequently  apologized  for  the  confusion  into  which  his  fur 
niture  was  thrown  by  his  preparations  for  leaving  it;  and  observed 
that  the  greater  part  of  his  furniture,  his  musical  instruments,  and  his 
library,  containing  several  thousand  volumes  of  books,  were  packed  up 
for  his  immediate  removal. 

•*  #•  #•  #•  -x-  #• 

"  Mr.  Blennerhasset  having  intended,  before  deponent  reached  his 
house,  to  visit  Marietta  on  Sunday  evening,  the  deponent  availed  him 
self  of  a  double  motive  to  quit  this  attractive  spot.  He  did  not  leave 
it,  however,  without  regretting  that  the  engagement  of  its  proprietor. 
and  his  own  dreary  journey,  but  just  begun  in  the  commencement  of 


188  TESTIMONY  OF  MR.  MERCER.  [1807. 

winter,  forbade  him  to  prolong  a  visit  which,  although  so  transient, 
had  afforded  him  so  much  pleasure. 

All  that  he  had  seen,  heard  or  felt,  corresponded  so  little  with  the 
criminal  designs  imputed  to  Mr.  Blennerhasset,  that  if  he  could  have 
visited  him  with  unfavourable  sentiments,  they  would  have  vanished 
before  the  light  of  a  species  of  evidence  which,  if  not  reducible  to  the 
strict  rules  of  legal  testimony,  has,  nevertheless,  a  potent  influence 
over  all  sensitive  hearts,  and  which,  though  it  possess  not  the  formal 
sanction,  has  often  more  truth  than  oaths  or  affirmations.  What! 
will  a  man  who,  weary  of  the  agitations  of  the  world,  of  its  noise  and 
vanity,  has  unambitiously  retired  to  a  solitary  island  iii  the  heart  of  a 
desert,  and  created  there  a  terrestrial  paradise,  the  very  flowers  and 
shrubs  and  vines  of  which  he  has  planted,  nurtured  and  reared  with 
his  own  hands ;  a  man  whose  soul  is  accustomed  to  toil  in  the  depths 
of  science,  and  to  repose  beneath  the  bowers  of  literature ;  whose  ear 
is  formed  to  the  harmony  of  sound,  and  whose  touch  and  breath  daily 
awaken  it  from  a  variety  of  melodious  instruments ; — will  such  a  man 
start  up,  in  the  decline  of  life,  from  the  pleasing  dream  of  seven  years' 
slumber,  to  carry  fire  and  sword  to  the  peaceful  habitations  of  men 
who  have  never  done  him  wrong  ?  Are  his  musical  instruments  and 
his  library  to  be  the  equipage  of  a  camp  ?  Will  he  expose  a  lovely 
and  accomplished  woman  and  two  little  children,  to  whom  he  seems 
so  tenderly  attached,  to  the  guilt  of  treason  and  the  horrors  of  war  ? 
A  treason  so  desperate — a  war  so  unequal !  Were  not  all  his  prepa 
rations  better  adapted  to  the  innocent  and  useful  purpose  which  he 
avowed,  rather  than  to  the  criminal  and  hazardous  enterprise  which 
was  imputed  to  him  ?  Such  were  the  sentiments 

with  which  the  deponent  left  the  island  of  Mr.  Blennerhasset/' 

The  reader  will  smile  at  this  rapture  of  enthusiasm  in  an  affidavit, 
and  weigh,  with  many  grains  of  allowance,  the  warm-hearted  friend 
ship  of  a  young  votary  fascinated  by  the  attractions  of  this  Eden  in 
the  wilderness ;  but  no  one  will  smile  more  good-naturedly  at  it  than 
the  worthy  author  of  it  himself,  who  has  lived  long  enough  to  repress 
the  fervours  of  his  imagination,  though  not  to  quench  the  generous 
and  benevolent  instincts  of  his  heart. 

A  few  more  brief  references  to  these  trials,  and  we  shall  dismiss 
the  subject. 


CHAP.  XIV.]  INCIDENTS  OF  THE  TRIAL.  189 

These  relate  to  minor  incidents  which  transpired  in  the  course  of 
tho  long  examinations  of  testimony,  and  are  only  noticed  to  show  the 
temper  in  which  the  parties  stood  to  each  other,  and  to  some  of  the 
more  prominent  witnesses. 

General  Wilkinson  is  under  examination  : 

"  MR.  BOTTS,  (speaking  to  the  witness.) — When  you  are  about  to 
show  a  paper,  you  will  please  submit  it  to  our  inspection. 

"  GENERAL  WILKINSON. — I  shall  be  governed  by  the  Judge  in 
that  respect." 

"  MR.  BOTTS. — Then  we  shall  request  the  Judge  to  govern  you  in 
that  respect. 

Major  Bruff  was  called  to  the  stand — 

"  MR.  WICKHAM  argued  that  the  testimony  of  Major  Bruff  was  ad 
missible  to  show  an  inconsistency  in  that  of  General  Wilkinson. 

"  GENERAL  WILKINSON. — May  I  be  permitted  to  make  one  obser 
vation  ?  I  am  not  in  the  smallest  degree  surprised  at  the  language 
which  has,  upon  this  and  several  other  occasions,  been  used  by  the 
counsel  of  Col.  Burr — men  who  are  hired  to  misrepresent. 

"  MR.  WICKHAM. — I  will  not  submit  to  such  language  from  any 
man  in  court. 

"  THE  CHIEF  JUSTICE  declared  the  style  of  General  Wilkinson 
to  be  improper,  and  that  he  had  heard  too  much  of  such  language  in 
court. 

"General  Wilkinson  apologized. " 

Silas  Dinsmore  is  questioned — he  says : 

"  General  Wilkinson  condescended  to  ask  my  opinion,  having  pre 
viously  made  a  full  disclosure  of  the  dangers  apprehended,  and  of  the 
measures  which  he  had  adopted.  I  did  give  my  advice  in  favour  of 
seizing  every  man  whom  he  found  opposed  to  his  measures.  This 
was  after  a  development  of  the  state  of  affairs  by  General  Wilkinson. 

"  MR.  MARTIN. — And  that  not  to  be  depended  upon. 

"  MR.  WIRT. — That  will  be  a  subject  of  discussion  hereafter. 

"  MR.  MARTIN. — I  know  that. 

"  MR.  WIRT,  (in  a  low  tone  of  voice  to  Mr.  M.)  —  You  know  a 
good  deal  of  these  things." 

The  following  is  in  a  pleasanter  key,  and  to  those  who  intimately 
knew  Mr.  Wirt,  and  remember  that  constant  tendency  to  playfulness, 


190  INCIDENTS  OF  THE  TRIAL.  118OT. 

which  seemed  to  break  forth  even  in  his  gravest  moments,  and  out 
of  the  bosom  of  his  deepest  study,  it  will  bring  him  vividly  to  mind. 
His  friends  will  recall  the  musical  voice  and  the  quiet  humour  that, 
like  a  ray  of  mellow  sunshine,  lit  up  his  eye,  when  an  occasion  for  a 
laugh  might  be  found  in  the  course  of  a  trial. 

A  fifer,  by  the  name  of  Gates,  was  under  cross-examination.  Some 
boats  had  been  seized  near  Marietta.  Gates  was  a  militia-man  on 
duty  against  the  conspirators,  and  saw  the  seizure  of  the  boats. 

"  MR.  WIRT. — As  far  as  I  understand  you,  you  were  called  on  to 
attack  the  boats? 

"  Answer. — Yes. 

"  MR.  WIRT. — And  you  were  called  on  to  carry  a  musket  ? 

"  Answer. — Yes. 

"  MR.  WIRT. — And  you  were  unwilling  to  do  it  ? 

"  Answer. — Yes. 

"  MR.  WIRT. — That  is,  you  were  willing  to  whistle,  and  not  to 
fight? 

.— Yes." 


CHAPTER  XV. 

1807. 

PUBLIC  AGITATION. THE   AFFAIR   OF    THE   LEOPARD   AND    CHESA 
PEAKE. EXPECTATION    OF   WAR. FOURTH    OF   JULY. LETTER 

TO  JUDGE  TUCKER. WJRT  PROJECTS  THE  RAISING  OF  A  LEGION. 

— CORRESPONDENCE  WITH  CARR  IN  REGARD  TO  IT. THE  PRO 
JECT  MEETS  OPPOSITION. FINALLY  ABANDONED. WAR  AR 
RESTED. THE  EMBARGO. 

THE  country  was  agitated,  in  1807,  by  other  events  of  higher 
political  import  than  Burr's  conspiracy. 

A  sentiment  of  hostility  against  England,  provoked  by  her  invasion 
of  the  neutral  rights  of  American  commerce  with  the  continent  of 
Europe,  in  the  right  of  search,  as  it  was  then  asserted,  and  by  the 


CHAP.  XV.]         THE  LEOPARD  AND  CHESAPEAKE.  191 

impressment  of  American  seamen  under  the  flag  of  the  United  States, 
had  been  growing,  for  some  few  years,  to  such  a  predominance  in  the 
breast  of  the  nation,  as  to  render  war  a  probable  result,  and  a  subject 
of  popular  comment.  The  failure  of  Messrs.  Monroe  and  Pinkney  to 
adjust  these  questions,  and  the  refusal  of  Mr.  Jefferson  even  to  submit 
to  the  Senate  the  unsatisfactory  treaty  they  had  negotiated,  contri 
buted  to  increase  the  probability  of  a  resort  to  arms. 

The  outrage  perpetrated,  at  this  juncture,  upon  the  national  flag,  in 
the  aggression  of  the  Leopard  upon  the  Chesapeake,  was,  in  itself,  an 
insult  of  such  flagrant  enormity,  as  to  rouse  the  universal  indignation 
of  the  people  to  a  demand  for  instant  reparation.  All  previous  topics 
of  quarrel  were  merged  in  this;  and  nothing  but  the  prompt  and 
vigorous  measures  taken  by  Mr.  Jefferson,  at  the  moment,  restrained 
the  country  from  an  immediate  declaration  of  war. 

It  was  on  the  22d  of  June,  when  the  Chesapeake  frigate,  standing 
out  to  sea  from  Norfolk,  passed  a  British  squadron  at  anchor  in 
Lynnhaven  bay.  The  Leopard,  a  frigate  of  fifty  guns,  belonging  to 
the  squadron,  followed  her,  and  overhauled  her  within  a  few  miles  of 
Cape  Henry.  Here  a  boat  was  sent  with  an  officer  and  several  men 
to  demand  of  Captain  Barren  the  surrender  of  three  men,  who  were 
said  to  be  aboard  the  Chesapeake,  and  who  were  claimed  as  native 
British  subjects.  Captain  Barren's  reply  was,  that  he  knew  of  no 
persons  of  that  description  amongst  his  crew.  Upon  receiving  this 
answer,  the  British  frigate  still  kept  in  pursuit  of  the  Chesapeake, — 
fired,  first,  one  gun,  and  then  a  broadside  into  her,  which  killed  and 
wounded  several  men,  besides  doing  some  damage  to  the  spars  and 
rigging  of  the  ship.  The  Chesapeake,  being  totally  unprepared  for 
an  encounter  which  she  had  no  reason  to  expect,  was  obliged  to  strike 
her  flag,  and  to  submit  to  the  impressment  and  abduction  of  four  of 
her  crew.*  The  consequences  which  followed  this  event,  gave  a 
stirring  interest  to  the  time. 

*  This  unfortunate  and  mortifying  incident  has  been  the  subject  of  too 
much  comment  to  render  it  necessary  to  say  more  of  it  here;  but,  in  justice 
to  those  who  were  censured  for  the  event,  it  is  proper  to  add  that  at  the 
moment  of  this  attack,  the  Chesapeake  was  in  a  condition  which  totally  dis 
abled  her  from  resistance.  She  had  been  but  a  few  hours  out  of  port,  and 
had  sailed  with  her  decks  lumbered  with  great  quantities  of  stores 
unstowed,  which  were  yet  in  this  condition.  This  disorder,  and  want  of 
organization  in  her  crew,  placed  her  entirely  at  the  disposal  of  her  enemy. 


192  EXPECTATION  OF  WAR.  [1807. 

The  President  issued  a  proclamation  ordering  off  the  British 
squadron,  and  interdicting  the  waters  of  the  United  States  to  all 
British  armed  vessels.  Detachments  of  militia  were  ordered  to  Nor 
folk,  to  protect  that  point  against  a  threatened  attack.  A  govern 
ment  vessel  was  despatched  to  London,  bearing  instructions  to  our 
minister  there  to  demand  the  satisfaction  and  security  which  the 
recent  outrage  rendered  necessary.  Every  thing  was  done  which  the 
crisis  required. 

This  reference  to  the  history  of  a  grave  national  event  may,  per 
haps,  appear  too  stately  an  introduction  to  the  comparatively  trivial 
concern  which  a  private  citizen  of  that  day  had  in  the  general  ferment 
which  it  produced.  In  the  humble  sphere  of  individual  participation, 
however,  we  may  often  read  an  authentic  exposition  of  national  senti 
ment,  and  find  the  temper  and  spirit  of  the  times  illustrated  quite  as 
forcibly  as  in  a  narrative  of  a  higher  cast;  —  indeed,  even  more 
forcibly,  and  with  more  graphic  effect. 

Richmond  became  a  theatre  of  great  agitation.  Those  martial 
fires,  which  slumber  in  the  breast  of  every  community,  and  which  are 
so  quickly  kindled  into  flame  by  the  breeze  of  stirring  public  events, 
now  blazed,  with  especial  ardour,  amongst  the  youthful  and  venturous 
spirits  of  Virginia.  Over  the  whole  state,  as,  indeed,  over  the  whole 
country,  that  combative  principle  which  lies  at  the  heart  of  all  chivalry, 
began  to  develope  itself  in  every  form  in  which  national  sensibility  is 
generally  exhibited.  The  people  held  meetings,  passed  fiery  resolu 
tions,  ate  indignant  dinners,  drank  belligerent  toasts,  and  uttered 
threatening  sentiments.  Old  armories  were  ransacked,  old  weapons 
of  war  were  burnished  anew,  military  companies  were  formed,  regi 
mentals  were  discussed,  the  drum  and  fife  and  martial  bands  of  music 
woke  the  morning  and  evening  echoes  of  town  and  country ;  and  the 
whole  land  was  filled  with  the  din,  the  clamour,  the  glitter,  the  array 
of  serried  hosts,  which  sprang  up,  like  plants  of  a  night,  out  of  the 
bosom  of  a  peaceful  nation.  The  pruning-hook  was,  all  of  a  sudden, 
converted  into  a  spear.  Patriotism  found  a  vent  in  eloquence ;  indo 
lence  an  unwonted  stimulus  in  the  exciting  appeals  of  the  day,  and 
the  monotony  of  ordinary  life  a  happy  relief  in  the  new  duties  which 
sprang  out  of  the  combination  of  citizen  and  soldier. 

Many  are  now  living  who  remember  this  fervour.     Twenty-five 


CHIP.  XV.]  FOURTH  OF  JULY.  193 

years  had  rolled  over  the  Revolution.  The  generation  which  grew  to 
manhood  in  this  interval,  were  educated  in  all  the  reminiscences  of 
the  war  of  Seventy-six,  which,  fresh  in  the  narratives  of  every  fire-side, 
inflamed  the  imagination  of  the  young  with  its  thousand  marvels  of 
soldier-like  adventure.  These  were  told  with  the  amplification  and 
the  unction  characteristic  of  the  veteran,  and  were  heard  by  his  youth 
ful  listener,  with  many  a  secret  sigh,  that  such  days  of  heroic  hazards 
were  not  to  return  for  him.  The  present  generation  is  but  faintly 
impressed  with  that  worship  of  the  Revolution  which,  before  the  war 
of  1812,  gave  a  poetical  character  to  its  memories,  and  made  it  so 
joyful  a  subject  for  the  imagination  of  those  who  lived  to  hear  these 
fresh  echoes  of  its  glory. 

Now,  in  1807,  whilst  these  emotions  still  swayed  the  breast  of  the 
sons  of  those  who  had  won  the  independence  of  the  nation,  the  same 
enemy  was  about  to  confront  them.  The  day  that  many  had  dreamed 
of  was  about  to  arrive ;  and  many  a  secret  aspiration  was  breathed  for 
a  field  to  realize  its  hopes.  To  this  sentiment  we  may  attribute,  in 
part,  that  quick  rising  of  the  people  in  1807,  which,  but  for  the  timely 
settlement  of  the  difficulty,  would,  in  a  few  months,  have  converted 
the  whole  country  into  a  camp. 

Foremost  amongst  the  enthusiasts  of  this  day  was  William  Wirt. 
"We  shall  find  him,  very  soon,  absorbed  in  a  scheme  to  raise  a  legion. 
He  was  to  be  at  the  head  of  four  regiments  of  State  troops,  with  a 
chosen  corps  of  officers  and  men,  whom,  he  did  not  doubt,  were  des 
tined  to  become  conspicuous  in  annals  dedicated  to  posterity.  For 
the  present,  we  shall  find  him  slaking  his  ardour  in  a  song. 

The  Fourth  of  July  was  to  be  celebrated  in  the  neighbourhood  of 
Richmond.  Such  an  occasion,  of  course,  no  one  could  expect  to  pass 
without  a  full  freight  of  those  engrossing  sentiments  which  were  pe 
culiarly  inspired  by  the  great  topic,  now  first  in  the  universal  mind. 
Judge  Tucker  was  a  poet  as  well  as  a  kindred  spirit.  He  had  wit 
nessed  the  Revolution  at  an  age  capable  of  observation,  and  was  still 
deeply  imbued  with  all  its  passion.  I  find  this  letter : 


VOL.  I.— 17 


194  FOURTH  OF  JULY.  [1807. 

TO  JUDGE   TUCKER. 

RICHMOND,  July  2,  1807. 
MY  DEAR  SIR  : 

How  is  your  muse  ?  If  in  mounting  mood,  how  would  you  gratify 
me,  and  enable  me  to  gratify  others,  on  Saturday,  by  a  song  on  the 
day,  embracing  the  late  gallant  exploit  of  the  Leopard !  Come,  I 
know  you  can  easily  dash  off  such  a  piece.  It  would  be  no  more  than 
one  of  the  ordinary  overflowings  of  your  spirit  versified;  and  rhyme, 
McPherson  says,  is  merely  a  mechanical  business,  to  which,  when  a 
man  has  served  an  apprenticeship,  there  is  no  more  labour  of  inven 
tion  about  it  than  Mr.  Didgbury  exercises  in  making  a  pair  of  pumps. 

Our  excursion,  to-morrow  morning,  to  the  point  of  the  beautiful  hill 
which  overhangs  the  Market  valley,  would  fill  you  with  the  concep 
tion.  All  the  rest  is  mere  manipulation. 

I  could  learn  the  song  on  Saturday  morning.  If  you  come  into 
this  idea,  as  I  suppose  the  metre  is  a  mere  matter  of  moonshine  to 
you,  I  would  propose  that  in  which  the  Death  of  Montgomery,  and 
the  Battle  of  Trenton,  are  written.  Lest  you  should  not  recollect 
these,  I  will  give  you  the  only  verse  of  the  latter  that  I  remember. 
Here  it  is : 

"Our  object  was  the  Hessian  band, 
That  dar'd  to  invade  fair  freedom's  land 

And  quarter  in  that  place. 
Great  Washington  he  led  us  on, 
With  ensigns  streaming  with  renown, 
Which  ne'er  had  known  disgrace." 

By-the-bye,  it  is  the  metre  of  "The  Mason's  Daughter,"  which  I 
am  sure  you  know.  Let  me  hear  whether  you  will  do  this  thing — 
yea  or  nay? 

Will  you  let  me  have  a  copy  of  your  song  in  honour  of  Washing 
ton  ?  I  heard  it  but  once.  I  think  it  goes  to  the  tune  of  "  The 
Death  of  Wolfe."  It  describes  Liberty  as  taking  her  flight  from  the 
shores  of  Albion,  and  lighting  here.  You  will  know,  by  this,  which 
I  mean. 

Very  sincerely, 

Your  friend  and  obed't  servant, 

WM.  WIRT. 

The  answer  is  given  by  the  Judge  in  the  following  memorandum, 
endorsed  in  his  own  handwriting,  upon  the  outer  page  of  this  letter. 

"  July  2,  1807.  I  called  on  Mr.  Wirt  this  morning,  and  found 
this  letter  upon  his  table.  He  said  '  there  is  a  letter  for  you.'  I  had 
in  my  pocket  the  lines  written  for  the  fourth  of  this  month,  which  I 
intended  for  him,  without  any  previous  communication  between  us, 
and  gave  them  to  him." 


CHAP.  XV.j  PREPARATION  FOR  WAR.  195 

The  lines  furnished  on  this  occasion  breathe  that  spirit  of  bitter 
remembrance  of  the  Revolutionary  war,  to  which  I  have  alluded, 
heightened  into  still  warmer  exacerbation,  by  the  audacity  of  the 
recent  aggression  upon  the  Chesapeake.  Happily,  these  feuds  are 
now  forgotten  in  the  tranquillity  engendered  by  that  sentiment  of 
mutual  respect  and  appreciation  of  national  and  individual  worth, 
which,  we  trust,  will  long  distinguish  the  intercourse  between  the  two 
countries.  At  the  date  of  the  events  above  referred  to,  the  joy  of  the 
nation  in  the  triumph  of  the  war  of  Independence,  had  lost  nothing 
of  its  sternness ;  whilst,  on  the  other  side,  the  sting  of  wounded  pride 
had  not  yet  been  assuaged  by  time.* 

*  Not  to  open  an  old  wound,  but  to  preserve  a  memorial  of  the  times  and 
of  the  spirit  of  defiance,  which  was  universally  returned  from  this  country 
to  its  proudest  and  most  powerful  enemy,  I  present  my  reader  a  copy  of 
Judge  Tucker's  verses,  which  were  sung,  at  the  celebration  alluded  to  in 
the  text,  by  a  voice  noted  for  its  melody. 

"Tyrant!  again  we  hear  thy  hostile  voice, 

Again,  upon  our  coasts,  thy  cannon's  roar, 
Again,  for  peace,  thou  leavest  us  no  choice, 

Again,  we  hurl  defiance  from  our  shore. 

Hast  thou  forgot  the  day  when  Warren  bled, 
Whilst  hecatombs  around  were  sacrificed  ? 

Hast  thou  forgot  thy  legions  captive  led, 
Thy  navies  blasted  by  a  foe  despised "? 

Or  think'st  thou,  we've  forgot  our  brothers  slain, 

Our  aged  fathers  weltering  in  their  gore? 
Our  widowed  mothers  on  their  knees,  in  vain, 

Their  violated  daughters'  fate  deplore? 

Our  friends,  in  prison-ships  and  dungeons  chained, 
To  summer's  suns  and  winter's  frost  exposed ; 

Insulted,  starved,  amidst  disease  detained, 
Till  death  the  iatal  scene  of  horrors  closed  ! 

Our  towns  in  ashes  laid,  our  fields  on  fire, 
Our  wives  and  children  flying  from  the  foe! 

Ourselves  in  battle  ready  to  expire, 

Yet  struggling  still  to  strike  another  blow! 

Know  then,  this  day  recalls  to  us  the  whole: 
And  hear  our  solemn  and  determined  voice; 

In  vain,  proud  tyrant,  shall  thy  thunders  roll, 
Since,  once  more,  death  or  victory  's  our  choice." 


196  PREPARATION  FOR  WAR.  [1807. 

A  short  note  to  Carr  explains  the  progress  of  the  war  fever.  Mr. 
Cabell  was,  at  this  time,  G-overnor  of  the  state.  The  note  refers  to 
proceedings  in  his  Council. 

RICHMOND,  July  2,  1807. 
DEAR  CARR  : 

We  are  on  tiptoe  for  war.     I  write  this  in 

the  antechamber,  where  we  are  waiting  the  final  resolve  of  the  Coun 
cil,  on  detaching  a  portion  of  us  to  support  our  brethren  at  Norfolk. 
When  more  composed,  I  will  write  to  you  at  large. 

The  prospect  of  war  had  now  filled  Wirt's  imagination  with  dreams 
of  military  life.  His  correspondence  is  fraught  with  schemes  of  mar 
tial  life.  His  views  of  public  affairs,  as  communicated  in  some  of 
these  letters,  will  probably  amuse  the  reader  of  the  present  day,  by 
their  exhibition  of  the  feelings  of  the  time,  and  the  extravagant 
expectations  which  the  ferment  of  the  public  mind  then  suggested. 

From  1807,  until  the  event  actually  occurred  in  1812,  the  martial 
temper  of  the  country  was  kept  in  an  excitement,  which  was  much 
more  likely  to  terminate  in  war  than  conciliation.  Wirt  had,  previous 
to  this  period,  held  the  commission  of  a  major  in  a  militia  regiment. 
At  the  last  session  of  the  Legislature,  he  had  been  put  in  nomination 
for  the  post  of  a  Brigadier-General,  and  had  only  lost  the  election  by 
a  few  votes. 

The  affair  of  the  Chesapeake  had  led  him  to  expect  military  ser 
vice  in  the  field;  and  he  now,  consequently,  turned  his  thoughts  to 
wards  an  effective  employment  in  a  war  which  he  considered  inevitable. 
To  this  end,  he  set  himself  about  the  organization  of  a  plan  to  raise 
the  Legion  to  which  I  have  already  adverted.  In  the  several  letters 
which  I  have  on  this  subject,  I  find  him  totally  engrossed  with  the 
project,  and  pursuing  it  with  an  earnestness,  which  shows  how  much 
his  mind  was  captivated  with  the  fancy  of  military  glory.  I  select  a 
few  of  these  letters,  with  a  view  to  a  rapid  sketch  of  this  passage  in 
his  personal  history.  They  contain  details  of  the  plan  of  the  Legion, 
and  an  announcement  of  what  was  expected  to  be  achieved,  which 
now,  after  the  experience  of  the  country  towards  the  realization  of 
these  fancies  of  1807,  will  be  read  with  curious  interest,  and,  per 
haps,  be  valued  for  the  comment  they  suggest  for  our  instruction, 
when  we  find  occasion  to  contrast  the  promises  of  the  day,  with  the 
performances  of  the  future. 


CHAP.  XV.]  LETTER  TO  CARR.  197 

TO   DABNEY  CARR. 

RICHMOND,  July  19,  1807. 
Mv  DEAR  FRIEND  : 

I  promised  that  you  should  hear  from  me  again,  and  more  at  length 
than  when  I  wrote  by  Stanard.  I  sit  down  now  to  comply  with  that 
engagement. 

%.  *  *  #  *  * 

On  receiving  the  President's  proclamation  officially,  the  British 
ships  in  Hampton  Roads  weighed  anchor,  the  Commodore  saying  that 
he  had  previously  determined  to  change  his  anchorage,  and  that  he 
was  the  master  of  his  own  movements.  They  sailed  out  of  the  capes. 
Richard  H.  Lee  was  sent  by  Mathews,  to  carry  to  Douglass,  despatches 
from  Erskine,  and  from  the  British  Consul  at  Norfolk.  When  he 
approached  them  he  was  hailed,  and  asked  if  he  did  not  know  that  all 
intercourse  between  the  main  and  the  squadron  was  prohibited  ?  He 
said  he  did ;  but  that  he  bore  important  communications,  which  ren 
dered  it  proper  that  he  should  come  on  board.  He  was  then  admitted 
on  deck,  delivered  his  despatches,  and  the  Commodore  asked  him  into 
the  cabin,  where  the  other  British  officers  were  immediately  assem 
bled.  After  they  had  read  the  despatches,  they  began  to  interrogate 
him  thus ;  "  Well,  sir,  is  the  mob  down  in  Norfolk,  or  is  it  still  up  ?" 
"  Has  the  mob  assassinated  the  British  Consul  yet?"  "  What  are  we 
to  make  of  this  Mathews — at  one  moment  he  is  a  general,  at  the  next, 
the  chairman  of  a  mob  ?"  Lee  tried  to  discourage  this  conversation, 
but  it  only  provoked  them  to  greater  rudeness. 

Two  of  the  British  ships  have  since  put  out  to  sea.  The  other  two 
still  remain  off  the  capes. 

The  Executive  has  recalled  the  companies  of  infantry  which  marched 
from  this  place  and  Petersburg.  The  two  troops  of  horse  from  these 
places  will  remain  with  Mathews,  for  the  purpose  of  scouring  the 
coast,  and  repelling  any  attempt  to  land. 

I  was  here  when  the  companies  from  this  place  inarched,  and  was 
in  Williamsburg,  when  the  company  of  horse  marched  thence  to  Nor 
folk.  It  had  not,  indeed,  all  of  the  glorious  "  pride,  pomp  and  cir 
cumstance," — but  it  smacked  "of  war."  The  companies  were  uni 
formed,  their  arms  newly  burnished.  They  had  an  elegant  stand  of 
colours,  and  a  most  delightfully  animating  band  of  music.  Accom 
panied  by  an  escort  of  the  militia  of  Richmond,  and  the  company  of 
artillery,  marching  in  files,  they  traversed  the  main  street  through 
almost  its  whole  length.  All  this  would  have  been  merely  a  Fourth 
of  July  parade ;  but  what  gave  it  the  tragic  face  of  war  was,  that 
every  window,  from  the  ground  to  the  third  and  fourth  story,  was  filled 
with  weeping  females. 

Do  you  think  that  these  people  will  do  us  the  justice  they  ought? 


198  PLAN  OF  A  LEGION.  [1807. 

The  exasperated  spirit  of  this  nation  will  not  be  satisfied  with  a  min 
isterial  disavowal ;  nor  with  an  English  farce  of  a  trial  of  Berkeley 
and  Humphreys,  a  complimentary  return  of  their  swords,  and  higher 
promotion. 

Even  if  they  were  to  convict  and  execute  Berkeley  or  Humphreys, 
or  both, — I  confess,  for  my  own  part,  that  I  should  be  very  dubious 
whether  they  were  not  giving  us  the  second  part  of  the  tragedy 
of  poor  Byng,  so  firmly  am  I  persuaded  that  this  atrocious  outrage 
flowed  from  the  Cabinet. 

According  to  my  notion  of  things,  if  the  ministry  disavow  the  out 
rage,  the  offenders  should  be  given  up  to  be  tried  in  this  country.  I 
see  this  right  disclaimed  by  a  northern  press,  (perhaps  a  republican 
one)  and,  I  think,  very  improperly.  The  paper  disclaims  it,  because 
the  violence  was  not  committed  within  our  jurisdiction ;  but  if  it  be 
true,  that  the  violence  done  to  the  Chesapeake  was  out  of  our  territo 
rial  line,  yet  the  Chesapeake,  herself,  wherever  she  was,  being  a  na 
tional  ship,  was  part  of  our  territory;  and  this,  I  think,  is  not  the 
less  true,  because  it  was  demonstrated,  perhaps,  by  John  Marshall,  in 
the  case  of  Jonathan  Bobbins.  If  it  be  true  at  all,  the  offenders 
ought  to  be  tried  in  this  country,  on  the  principles  of  national,  as  well 
as  common  law.  If  tried  here,  Berkeley  and  Humphreys  will  have  it 
in  their  power  to  show  whether  they  acted  by  the  orders  of  their  mas 
ters.  If  they  did,  they  ought  to  be  acquitted,  and  their  masters  pun 
ished.  If  they  did  not,  they  would  themselves  be  certainly  punished. 
Neither  of  which  events  would  happen,  if  tried  in  England. 

I  think  nothing  less  ought  to,  or  will  satisfy  the  people  of  this  coun 
try,  than  the  surrender  of  Berkeley  and  Humphreys  for  trial.  And  as 
I  believe  that  British  arrogance  will  never  condescend  to  this  act  of 
justice,  I  believe  war  to  be  inevitable. 

In  this  event,  I  presume  that  our  profession  will  be  of  but  little 
importance  to  us. 

If  so,  what  will  you  do  with  yourself?  Not  sit  idly  at  home,  I 
presume.  For  my  part,  I  am  resolved.  I  shall  yield  back  my  wife 
to  her  father,  pro  tempore,  to  which  the  old  gentleman  has  agreed, 
and  I  shall  march. 

Now,  Sir  :  "  Shut  the  door," — what  follows  is  in  the  strictest  con 
fidence  of  friendship,  never  to  be  hinted  to  a  living  soul,  unless  you 
come  into  it,  and  it  takes  effect.  There  are  some  "choice  spirits," 
(a  phrase  which  I  am  sorry  that  Burr  has  polluted,)  who  have  agreed 
to  raise  four  volunteer  regiments,  to  be  formed  into  a  brigade.  We 
begin  with  four  colonels, — who  are  nominated,  and  of  whom  you  are 
proposed  to  be  one. — These  colonels  to  nominate  their  majors  and 
captains,  to  be  approved  of  by  all  the  colonels.  The  object  is  to 
make  the  selection  as  distinguished  for  talent,  spirit  and  character  as 
possible :  to  have  no  officer  merely  because  his  heart  is  good ;  nor 
merely  because  his  understanding  is  good ;  but  to  have,  in  hiin;  a 


CHAP.  XV.]  LETTER  TO  CARR.  199 

union,  as  perfect  as  possible,  of  understanding,  heart,  good  temper, 
and  morals.  It  is  to  be  explicitly  understood,  that  no  man  is  to  bo 
admitted,  even  into  the  ranks,  unless  his  morals  are  good.  Thus 
organized,  what  a  brigade  ! 

It  is  proposed  to  make  an  offer  of  these  four  regiments  to  the  Pre 
sident,  under  the  act  of  Congress  which  authorizes  him  to  accept  of 
the  service  of  volunteers.  By  that  act,  the  volunteer  officers  are  to 
be  commissioned  by  their  respective  states.  This,  there  is  no  doubt, 
the  Executive  Council  of  the  state  will  do,  so  far  as  the  commissions 
of  colonel  ]  they  have  no  power  to  appoint  a  brigadier-general.  But 
there  is  as  little  doubt  that  the  Legislature  will  confer  that  office  on 
the  colonel  who  holds  the  first  commission.  The  colonels  proposed, 
are — A.  Stuart,  a  member  of  the  Council,  who,  notwithstanding  his 
deficiency  in  the  graces,  has,  you  know,  as  sound  a  judgment,  and  as 
ardent  a  heart  as  ever  did  honour  to  humanity — John  Clarke,  the 
Superintendent  of  the  Manufactory  of  Arms,  one  of  the  first  geniuses 
and  best  men  of  the  state — yourself  and  myself.  They  have  done 
me  the  honour  to  insist  that  I  shall  take  the  first  commission.  We 
are  not  to  leave  our  homes  until  called  into  actual  service  by  the  Pre 
sident. 

You  will  let  me  hear  from  you,  if  possible,  by  the  return  of  mail, 
as  Stuart  is  going  on  next  Monday  to  Annapolis,  on  business,  and  is 
willing  to  take  the  Federal  City  on  his  way,  to  commune  with  the 
President. 

If  you  accord,  authorize  me,  by  letter,  to  sign  your  name  to  the 
association. 

Any  thing  else,  after  this,  will  be  flat — so  no  more,  but;  with  love 
to  Mrs.  C.  and  your  brothers, 

Adieu,  your  friend, 

WM.  WIRT. 

TO    DABNEY  CARR. 

RICHMOND,  July  28,  1807. 

Your  expected  favour,  by  the  last  mail,  was  every  thing  I  could 
wish.  Stuart  had  gone  to  Hanover  Court,  on  his  way  to  Washing 
ton  }  he  was  not,  therefore,  here,  to  consult  on  the  subject  of  suffering 
you  to  exchange  the  rank  of  fourth  colonel  for  that  of  first  major,  in 
the  first  regiment. 

I  read  your  letter  to  Clarke :  he  was  so  much  enraptured  with  your 
sentiments,  that  he  swore  the  exchange  should  not  take  place  by  his 
consent.  I,  therefore,  signed  your  name  to  a  letter  which  I  had  writ 
ten  to  the  President,  containing  our  joint  proposal,  and  despatched  it 
to  Stuart,  at  Hanover,  by  the  mail  of  last  evening. 

If  the  President  shall  be  at  Washington  when  the  letter  gets  there, 
it  will  be  presented  :  otherwise,  I  have  requested  Stuart  not  to  leave 


200  EFFORTS  TO  FORM  THE  LEGION.  [1807 

it ;  staling  to  him,  tliat  you  appear  to  entertain  serious  doubts  of  your 
ability  to  raise  a  regiment ;  that  you  propose  Nelson,  and  state  your 
willingness  to  accept  a  majority  in  my  regiment :  that,  for  your  sake, 
I  could  wish  that  this  point  might  be  considered  by  us  on  his  return : 
that,  in  the  meantime,  I  should  authorize  you,  if  your  apprehensions 
still  continued,  to  sound  Nelson,  distantly  and  delicately,  and  ascer 
tain,  with  certainty,  whether  he  would  take  the  rank  of  fourth  colonel 
in  the  brigade,  without  any  shadow  of  repining  at  his  station. 

The  arrangement  which  we  have  made  must  not  be  broken,  and  I 
am  apprehensive,  that  Nelson,  although  he  might  consent  to  join, 
would  entertain  a  secret  wish  that  the  arrangement  had  given  him  a 
higher  position.  Now,  in  order  to  give  to  the  brigade  that  unity  of 
spirit  and  motion,  which  are  indispensable  to  its  energy  as  well  as 
harmony,  it  is  necessary  that  every  man  should  be  not  only  contented, 
but  pleased  with  his  peculiar  station.  One  discontented  and  perturbed 
spirit,  especially  in  a  high  command,  would  not  only  mar  our  happi 
ness,  but  endanger  the  powerful  effect  which  we  hope  and  expect.  If, 
therefore,  you  shall  retain  your  apprehensions  as  to  raising  a  regiment, 
after  what  I  shall  presently  say,  you  can,  if  you  please,  feel  N.'s  pulse, 
to  ascertain  whether  he  would,  with  all  his  soul,  come  into  it,  and 
take  the  station  proposed  to  him  in  a  brigade,  to  be  organised  on  the 
principles  of  ours. 

You  will  understand  that  this  sounding  is  predicated  upon  the  sup 
position  that  the  President  shall  have  left  Washington  before  Stuart 
gets  there ;  for  if  Stuart  finds  him  there,  you  are  committed. 

In  the  event  of  Nelson's  being  taken  in  as  colonel,  you  will  be  my 
first  major;  and,  when  I  take  the  command  of  the  brigade,  you  will, 
of  course,  take  the  head  of  my  regiment,  which  is  the  first  regi 
ment. 

But  now,  as  to  the  practicability  of  forming  a  regiment,  that  will 
depend  less  on  the  personal  popularity  of  the  colonel,  than  of  his 
subalterns.  You  will,  for  example,  appoint  your  majors  and  captains, 
'with  the  approbation  of  your  brother  colonels.  In  making  these 
appointments,  you  will  have  the  range  of  the  state ;  you  will  appoint 
one  major  in  one  part  of  the  state,  another,  in  another :  diffuse  the 
appointment  of  captains  as  widely  as  possible,  so  as  to  increase  the 
chances  of  a  rapid  formation  of  your  regiment;  these  captains  will 
appoint  their  subalterns;  and  on  the  captain  and  his  inferior  officers, 
will  depend  the  success  of  enlistments.  That  you,  as  the  colonel,  are 
a  man  of  talents,  honour,  education,  good  breeding,  courage  and  hu 
manity,  will  be  information  enough  to  the  soldiers. 

Besides,  sir,  as  soon  as  we  are  commissioned,  I  mean  to  have  two 
or  three  hundred  hand-bills  struck,  explanatory  of  the  principles  on 
which  our  brigade  will  be  constructed  ;  and  painting  it  in  perspective 
as  brilliantly  as  my  paint-box  and  brushes  can  do  it ;  these  will  be 
circulated,  first  to  the  colonels,  through  them  to  the  majors,  and 


CHAP.  XV.J  THE  LEGION.  201 

through  them  to  the  captains  and  subalterns,  to  be  read  at  every  pub 
lic  meeting  of  courts,  musters,  &c. 

On  the  efficacy  of  this  address  —  on  the  conduct  of  your  majors, 
captains,  &c.,  dispersed  over  the  state,  I  think  you  may  securely  count 
for  a  regiment;  more  especially,  when  your  own  unsullied  and  re 
spectable  name  is  known  to  key  the  arch. 

If,  after  all  this,  you  doubt,  and  the  President  should  be  at  Monti- 
cello,  and  you  prefer"  Nelson,  if  he  comes  into  it  con  amore,  he  will 
be  excellent. 

*  -x-  *  -x-  #  * 

The  Governor  has  written  to  the  President  in  support  of  our  letter 
— ca  ira. 

Yours, 

WM.  WIRT. 

TO  DABNEY  CARR. 

RICHMOND,  August  12,  1807. 
MY  DEAR  CHEVALIER  : 

******* 

The  act  of  Congress,  of  the  24th  February  last,  authorizes  a  tender 
of  volunteer  services  to  the  President  by  companies ;  and  directs  him 
to  organize  the  companies,  so  tendered,  into  battalions,  regiments  and 
brigades  :  hence  it  is  thought  that  commissions  to  majors  and  colonels 
cannot  issue,  until  he  shall  have  received  the  tender  of  your  companies, 
and  made  the  requisite  organization. 

Enclosed  you  have  commissions  for  the  seven  captains  whom  you 
have  named,  with  a  circular  letter  for  each.  You  will  require  two 
more  captains,  whom  you  will  name  by  the  return  of  mail ;  and  you 
will,  as  early  as  possible,  name  the  lieutenants  and  ensigns  in  each 
company. 

Upon  this  subject  you  had  better  take  the  opinion  of  each  captain, 
as  they  will  probably  best  know  the  officers  qualified  for  the  recruiting 
service  in  their  respective  neighbourhoods.  In  the  meantime,  the 
persons  so  designated  as  lieutenants  and  ensigns,  can  immediately 
assist  the  captains  in  recruiting ;  understanding,  however,  that  their 
commissions  will  depend  on  the  approbation  of  the  Executive  Council 
of  the  State.  If  approved,  their  commissions  will  be  immediately 
forwarded. 

If  either  of  your  captains  decline,  name  another,  as  soon  as  pos 
sible,  in  his  place,  and  your  brothers  here  will  take  care  of  his  com 
mission. 

Charge  your  captains,  particularly,  to  recruit  no  drunkard  and  no 
unprincipled  gambler.  Let  them,  as  far  as  possible,  recruit  only 
young  men,  (I  mean  without  families,  and  under  six  and  thirty — at 
all  events,  not  over  forty)  of  good  size  and  healthy.  It  would  be 


202  THE  LEGION.  [1807 

fortunate  if  each  company  could  be  completed  in  the  same  neighbour 
hood,  for  the  convenience  of  exercising  it. 

The  men  will  understand  that  they  will  not  be  called  from  their 
several  neighbourhoods  and  pursuits,  until  called  out  by  the  President 
into  actual  service. 

They  ought  to  understand  that  the  war  cannot,  in  the  nature  of 
things,  be  a  long  one.  A  single  campaign  will  probably  give  us 
Canada  and  Nova  Scotia :  so  that  while  an  engagement  for  the  war 
will  be  more  honourable,  it  will  probably  not  be  more  oppressive  than 
an  engagement  for  twelve  months — (and  much  I  fear  that  the  glory 
of  this  achievement  will  be  given  to  the  states  immediately  in  the 
British  neighbourhood : — Canada  and  Nova  Scotia  taken,  little  more 
will  remain,  unless  Great  Britain,  by  conquest,  should  open  another 
theatre  in  the  South  : — this  parenthesis  is  to  you.) 

#  #  *  #  *  *  * 

The  substance  of  our  letter  to  the  President  will  be  found  in  the 
enclosed  circular. 

The  companies  recruited,  will  furnish  themselves  with  the  cheap 
militia  uniform  of  the  state,  of  which  any  captain  will  advise  you  j 
and  for  which,  if  they  are  called  out  into  service,  they  will  be  paid  by 
the  United  States. 

On  the  subject  of  recruiting  among  other  volunteers,  you  will  hear 
further  from  us. 

The  hour  of  Burr's  trial  is  come.  He  has  exhausted  the  panel, 
and  elected  only  four  jurors,  Ed.  Carrington,  Hugh  Mercer,  R.  E. 
Parker,  (the  Judge's  grandson)  and  Lambert,  of  this  place. 

Your  brothers  greet  you, 

WM.  WIRT. 

We  have  now  some  signs  of  miscarriage.  Glory  has  its  untoward 
currents  as  well  as  love.  The  war  seems  to  have  been  transferred  to 
the  newspapers. 

TO  DABNEY   CARR. 

RICHMOND,  September  1,  1807. 
Mv  DEAR  DABNEY  : 

Sick,  as  I  have  been  for  several  days,  and  harassed  by  the  pro 
gress  of  Burr's  affair,  I  have  but  a  minute  to  answer  your  favour  by 
the  last  mail. 

*  *##### 

"We  have  certainly  been  deceived,  if  not  in  the  virtue  at  least  in 
the  understanding  of  our  countrymen.  In  spite  of  the  repeated 
efforts  which  have  been  made  to  explain  the  motives  and  object  of 
our  association,  and  its  non-interference  with  militia  dignities,  they 


CHAP.  XV.]  THE  LEGION.  203 

still  misapprehend  it,  or  affect  to  misapprehend  it.     We  are  right  in 
principle,  and  must  disregard  this  "  ardor  prava  jubentium." 

Several  companies  in  the  lower  country  are  filled  up,  or  nearly  so ; 
and  I  think  the  wave  of  prejudice  is  retiring.  A  letter  of  the 
Governor,  in  reply  to  one  from  a  militia-officer  making  inquiries  as  to 
this  Legion,  will  be  published  to-day,  by  order  of  Council,  and  will,  I 
hope,  give  the  coup  de  grace  to  this  ignorant  or  vicious  opposition. 

My  sickness,  arid  professional  engagements  together,  have  pre 
vented  me  from  giving  to  this  subject,  for  some  time  past,  that  per 
sonal  attention  which  I  wished. 

#  *  #  *  #  *  * 

Marshall  has  stepped  in  between  Burr  and  death.  Pie  has  pro 
nounced  an  opinion  that  our  evidence  is  all  irrelevant,  Burr  not 
having  been  present  at  the  island  with  the  assemblage,  and  the  act 
itself 'not  amounting  to  levying  war. 

The  jury,  thus  sent  out  without  evidence,  have  this  day  returned  a 
verdict,  in  substance,  of -not  guilty. 

Your  friend, 

WM.  WIRT. 


The  next  letter  looks  to  the  conquest  of  Quebec. 

TO   DABNEY  CARR. 

RICHMOND,  September  8,  1807. 
MY  DEAR  FRIEND  : 

#*##*#»# 

Mr.  Randolph's  project  is  better  calculated  than  ours  to  go  on 
swimmingly  at  first.  Wait  till  the  election  of  his  officers,  and  the 
period  of  their  services  is  fixed,  and  you  will  discover  the  discordia 
nemina  rerum  which  his  plan  contains.  In  our  plan,  no  source  of 
delusive  hope  and  consequent  disgust  and  disappointment  exists.  All 
who  join  us  will  know,  with  certainty,  what  they  undertake ;  none 
but  ardent  and  aspiring  spirits  will  join  us,  because  we  go  for  the  war : 
we  shall  have  no  six  months  soldier  whose  heart  and  face  will  be 
turned  towards  home  every  step  that  he  takes  towards  Canada,  and 
whose  dragging,  lengthening  chain  will  be  almost  too  heavy  to  be 
borne  by  him  before  he  gets  half-way  to  Quebec. 

I  begin  to  apprehend  that  there  will  be  no  war.  The  blood  of  our 
countrymen  has  been  washed  from  the  decks  of  the  Chesapeake,  and 
we  have  never  learned  how  to  bear  malice.  Besides,  Bonaparte  will 
drub  and  frighten  the  British  into  the  appearance,  at  least,  of  good 
humour  with  us. 

I  think,  however,  we  had  better  urge  on  our  brigade  till  our  govern- 


204  MISCARRIAGE.  [1807. 

ment  orders  us  to  ground  our  arms.     The  progress  we  shall  make 
will  be  so  much  ground  gained  in  the  event  of  a  new  explosion. 

You  will  see  the  opinion  by  which  Marshall  stopped  the  trial  for 
treason.  The  trial  for  misdemeanour  will  begin  to-day.  It  will  soon 
be  stopped :  then  a  motion  to  commit  and  send  on  to  Kentucky; 
which  will  not  be  heard. 

Yours, 

WM.  WIRT. 

From  the  philosophical  tone  of  our  next  extract,  we  infer  that  the 
Legion  and  its  hopes  had  fallen  into  some  danger  of  extinction  from 
the  jealousy  entertained  against  it  by  the  militia  of  the  state.  This 
seems  to  have  been  the  first  event  in  the  life  of  the  writer  which  gave 
him  a  taste  of  the  disappointments  to  which  all  ambitious  aspirations 
are  exposed,  and  therefore  to  have  filled  his  mind  with  reflections 
which  were  not  less  natural  to  the  occasion  than  of  a  character  to  be 
frequently  repeated  in  the  course  of  his  succeeding  years. 

TO   DABNEY  CARR. 

RICHMOND,  September  14,  1807. 
MY  DEAR  FRIEND  : 

*  *  ft  *  * 

As  to  the  Legion,  it  has  given  me  a  new  view  of  human  nature  and 
of  my  countrymen ;  and  has,  I  confess,  filled  my  heart  with  the  most 
melancholy  presages  for  their  future  destiny.  So  easily  misled  and 
so  easily  inflamed,  even  against  their  friends,  what  difficulty  will  an 
artful  villain  ever  have  in  wielding  them  even  to  their  own  ruin  ? 

This  is  a  new  incentive  to  virtue.  It  is  into  our  own  hearts  that 
we  are,  at  last,  to  look  for  happiness.  It  is  the  only  source  on  which 
we  can  count  with  infallible  certainty.  These  truths,  so*  long  preached 
by  philosophers  and  divines,  were  never  before  brought  home  so 
strongly  to  my  conviction  as  by  the  example  of  this  Legion. 

Thank  God !  we  are  not  without  this  source  of  happiness  on  the 
present  occasion. 

But  what  is  to  become  of  the  people  ?  what  is  to  become  of  the  re 
public,  since  they  are  thus  easily  to  be  duped  ? 

These  are  subjects  which  suggest  most  painful  anticipations  to  me ; 
for  it  seems  that  no  rectitude,  no  patriotism  of  intention,  can  shield  a 
man  even  from  censure  and  execration.  And  the  people,  who  them 
selves  mean  to  do  what  is  right,  are  still  capable  of  being  so  deluded 
as  to  think  it  proper,  and  even  virtuous,  to  censure  and  execrate  a 
man  for  an  act,  not  only  flowing  from  the  purest  motives,  but  really 
well  judged  for  their  benefit  and  happiness. 


CHAP.  XV.]  POLITICAL  REFLECTIONS.  205 

How  hard  is  it  for  a  republican  to  admit  the  truth,  that  a  patriotic 
and  judicious  action  may,  nevertheless,  draw  down  upon  its  authors 
the  disapprobation,  the  censure,  and  even  the  curses,  of  the  people ! 
That  no  argument,  no  appeal  to  reason  and  law  and  right,  can  save 
him  from  the  consequences  !  Yet  it  is  certainly  true. 

It  requires  some  effort  in  a  man,  who  receives  this  conviction  from 
experience,  to  prevent  him  from  drawing  himself  into  his  shell,  and 
caring  only  about  himself.  *  *  *  But  then, 

if  every  virtuous  man  should  take  that  resolution,  the  theatre  would 
be  given  up  to  villains  solely,  and  we  should  soon  all  go  to  perdition 
together ;  and  this  would  not  be  quite  so  palatable.  So,  we  must  do 
our  duty,  and  leave  the  issues  to  Heaven.  If  the  people  curse  us,  our 
own  hearts  will  bless  us ;  "  if  we  have  troubles  at  sea,  boys,  we  have 
pleasures  on  shore."  And,  admitting  all  these  alloys,  what  form  of 
government  is  there  that  has  not  more  and  worse  ?  So  "  we  bring  up 
the  lee-way  with  a  wet  sail/'  as  poor  Frank  Walker  used  to  say. 

We  are  balancing  on  the  point  of  yielding  the  legionary  scheme,  so 
far  as  the  field- officers  are  concerned.  Consult  Nelson,  and  let  me 
hear  what  you  think  of  it. 

The  second  prosecution  against  Burr  is  at  an  end ;  Marshall  has 
again  arrested  the  evidence. 

A  motion  will  be  made  to  commit  him  and  his  confederates  for  trial 
in  Kentucky,  or  wherever  else  the  judge  shall,  from  the  whole  evi 
dence,  believe  their  crimes  to  have  been  committed. 

There  is  no  knowing  what  will  become  of  the  motion.     I  believe  it 
v»ill  be  defeated : — sic  transit,  &c. 
In  haste, 

Yours  affectionately, 

WM.  WIRT. 

The  Legion  has  now  become  hopeless.  It  can  only  be  revived  by 
Great  Britain ; — as  we  may  read  in  the  next  letter. 


TO  DABNEY  CARR. 

RICHMOND,  September  22,  1807. 
MY  DEAR  DABNEY  : 

I  have  a  moment,  only,  to  acknowledge  yours  of  the  18th  inst. 

The  abandonment  of  the  legionary  scheme,  which  I  suggested  for 
your  consideration  in  my  last,  was  proposed  by  some  of  our  friends  in 
the  country;  and  while  we  were  considering  it,  I  thought  it  proper 
that  you  should  consider  it  too. 

It  is  my  own  opinion  that  there  would  be  more  dignity,  as  well  as 
propriety,  in  our  withdrawing.  But  the  majority  here  urge,  with  some 
reason,  that  we  stand  committed  to  the  captains  who  have  accepted. 

VOL.  I.  — 18 


206  THE  LEGION  ABANDONED.  [1807. 

and  should  infringe  the  express  terms  of  the  contract  which  we  our 
selves  proposed,  by  deserting  them  at  this  time. 

It  seems  to  be  the  opinion  that,  under  these  circumstances,  we  had 
better  suffer  the  scheme  to  die  a  natural  death. 

It  is  not  even  yet  despaired  but  that  the  plan  may  be  executed. 
From  Gloucester,  Essex,  Stafford  and  Fredericksburg,  we  have  natter 
ing  accounts  that  the  storm  is  subsiding. 

It  depends,  I  suspect,  on  Great  Britain,  whether  the  Legion  will  be 
ever  filled  up. 

In  very  great  haste,  my  dear  D., 

I  am  yours  ut  semper, 

WM.  WIRT. 

This  is  the  end  of  a  martial  dream.  Wirt  and  Oarr  were  both  in 
their  thirty-fifth  year;  an  age  when  men  maybe  trusted  to  make  good 
any  promise  of  adventure.  They  were  both  very  much  in  earnest  in 
the  scheme.  The  reader  will  smile  at  the  double  current  of  war  and 
law  which  runs  through  these  letters ;  the  affairs  of  the  forum  in  the 
morning,  of  the  camp  in  the  evening ;  a  twofold  engrossment,  very 
taking  to  the  fancy  of  Wirt.  A  special  session  of  Congress  was  called 
by  the  President,  to  commence  on  the  26th  of  October.  It  was  sup 
posed  that  this  session  would  take  up  the  question  of  the  Chesapeake 
in  such  a  spirit  as  would  lead  to  a  declaration  of  war.  That  expecta 
tion  had  already  yielded  to  an  opposite  conviction,  produced  by  a  dis 
avowal  of  the  act  of  the  British  commander  by  his  government.  The 
prospect  of  settling  the  pending  differences  by  negotiation  became 
almost  certain.  The  result  was,  that  the  war  was  indefinitely  post 
poned.  Amongst  other  consequences  of  this  event,  the  hopes  of  the 
Legion  and  its  proprietor  gradually  faded  away  in  the  somewhat  clouded 
atmosphere  of  a  doubtful  peace. 

Instead  of  war,  the  country  had  an  Embargo. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

1808. 

INCREASING   REPUTATION. — MR.  JEFFERSON   PROPOSES   TO  HIM   TO 

GO   INTO    CONGRESS. HE   DECLINES. DETERMINES    TO  ADHERE 

TO  HIS    PROFESSION. — HE   DEFENDS  MR.  MADISON  AGAINST   THE 

PROTEST. LETTERS  OF  "  ONE  OF  THE  PEOPLE." UNEXPECTEDLY 

PUT  IN  NOMINATION    FOR  THE   LEGISLATURE. LETTER  TO  MRS. 

W.  ON  THIS   EVENT. HIS   REPUGNANCE   TO  IT. IS   ELECTED. — 

CORRESPONDENCE   WITH    MR.  MONROE. LETTERS   TO    CARR  AND 

EDWARDS. 

THE  reputation  which  "Wirt  acquired  by  his  participation  in  the  trial 
of  Aaron  Burr;  had  a  conspicuous  effect  upon  his  subsequent  career. 
That  trial  had  summoned  to  Richmond  a  great  concourse  of  spectators, 
amongst  whom  were  many  men  of  the  highest  distinction  in  the  State 
of  Virginia,  and,  indeed,  in  the  Union.  The  court-house  was  thronged 
with  crowds  capable  of  forming  the  best  judgment  upon  the  merits  of 
the  counsel,  and  of  doing  full  justice  to  their  several  ability.  The 
cases  were  argued  with  careful  preparation  and  masterly  skill.  The 
whole  doctrine  of  treason,  both  as  known  to  the  law  of  England  and  as 
denned  in  the  Constitution  of  the  United  States,  was  fully  discussed, 
and  the  leading  decisions  of  both  countries  were  analyzed,  with  an 
acumen  which  impresses  the  reader  of  the  report  with  the  highest 
respect  for  the  talent  enlisted  in  the  cause. 

The  opinions  of  those  who  witnessed  the  trial,  and  the  impressions 
made  by  it  upon  all  who  read  the  proceedings  at  a  distance  from  the 
scene,  Equally  tended  to  elevate  the  professional  standing  of  the  coun 
sel  :  of  neither  more  than  of  Mr.  Wirt.  Indeed,  judging  from  the 
notoriety  which  portions  of  his  speech  acquired  through  the  public 
press,  we  may  say  that  no  one  of  the  counsel  profited  as  much  by  it 
as  he  did. 

His  popularity  in  Richmond  thus  greatly  enhanced,  seems  to  have 

(207) 


208  LETTER  FROM  MR.  JEFFERSON.  [1808. 

suggested  an  attempt  to  bring  him  into  public  life.  Mr.  Jefferson 
expressed  an  earnest  wish  to  him  ou  this  subject,  in  which  he  was 
seconded  by  many  of  his  political  friends. 

The  following  letter  from  the  President,  now  approaching  the  last 
year  of  his  second  term;  shows  the  high  estimate  he  made  of  Mr. 
Wirt's  qualifications  for  political  service, 

WASHINGTON,  January  10,  1808. 
DEAR  SIR  : 

*  *  #  *  #  * 

I  suspected,  from  your  desire  to  go  into  the  army,  that  you  disliked 
your  profession,  notwithstanding  that  your  prospects  in  it  were  inferior 
to  none  in  the  State.  Still,  I  knew  that  no  profession  is  open  to 
stronger  antipathies  than  that  of  the  law.  The  object  of  this  letter, 
then,  is  to  propose  to  you  to  come  into  Congress.  That  is  the  great 
commanding  theatre  of  this  nation,  and  the  threshold  to  whatever  de 
partment  of  office  a  man  is  qualified  to  enter.  With  your  reputation, 
talents  and  correct  views,  used  with  the  necessary  prudence,  you  will 
at  once  be  placed  at  the  head  of  the  republican  body  in  the  House  of 
Representatives :  and  after  obtaining  the  standing  which  a  little  time 
will  insure  you,  you  may  look,  at  your  own  will,  into  the  military,  the 
judiciary,  diplomatic  or  other  civil  departments,  with  a  certainty  of 
being  in  either  whatever  you  please  ]  and,  in  the  present  state  of  what 
may  be  called  the  eminent  talents  of  our  country,  you  may  be  assured 
of  being  engaged,  through  life,  in  the  most  honourable  employments. 
If  you  come  in  at  the  next  election,  you  will  begin  your  course  with 
a  new  administration. 

it          v  *.*#-,** 

By  supporting  them,  you  will  lay  for  yourself  a  broad  foundation  in 
the  public  confidence,  and,  indeed,  you  will  become  the  Colossus  of 
the  republican  government  of  your  country.  I  will  not  say  that  pub 
lic  life  is  the  line  for  making  a  fortune ;  but  it  furnishes  a  decent  and 
honourable  support,  and  places  one's  children  on  good  grounds  for 
public  favour.  The  family  of  a  beloved  father  will  stand  with  the 
public  on  the  most  favourable  grounds  of  competition.  Had  General 
Washington  left  children,  what  would  have  been  denied  to  them  ? 

Perhaps  I  ought  to  apologize  for  the  frankness  of  this  communica 
tion.  It  proceeds  from  an  ardent  zeal  to  see  this  government  (the  idol 
of  my  soul)  continue  in  good  hands,  and  from  a  sincere  desire  to  see 
you  whatever  you  wish  to  be.  To  this  apology  I  shall  only  add  my 
friendly  salutations  and  assurances  of  sincere  esteem  and  respect. 

TH.  JEFFERSON. 

This  very  flattering  invitation,  from  one  so  eminently  distinguished 


CHAP.  XVI.]  VVIRT'S  ANSWER.  209 

as  the  writer  of  it,  to  a  career  which  we  may  suppose,  at  this  time,  to 
have  been  fully  open  to  Mr.  Wirt,  and  which,  in  itself,  is  usually  re 
garded  as  sufficiently  attractive  to  men  of  talents,  was  promptly  an 
swered  by  him  to  whom  it  was  addressed,  in  a  tone  of  so  much  pru 
dence,  and  with  such  deliberate  estimate  of  the  duties  he  owed  to 
himself  and  his  family,  as  to  present  an  example  of  self-denial  but 
seldom  witnessed  in  one  who  might  have  found  in  the  invitation  so 
many  persuasives  to  accept  it. 

Wirt  was  now  in  the  very  meridian  of  vigorous  manhood, — a  time 
of  life  when  the  ardour  of  youthful  ambition  is  not  only  unabated,  but 
even  more  confident,  by  the  conscious  strength  of  experience  and 
knowledge  of  the  world. 

TO   THOMAS  JEFFERSON. 

RICHMOND,  January  14,  1808. 
DEAR  SIR  : 

I  fear  you  have  forgotten  my  disposition,  since  you  seem  to  think 
your  favour  of  the  10th  might  require  an  apology.  It  is  to  me  oblig 
ing  and  grateful  beyond  expression.  I  cannot  better  deserve  your 
good  opinion  than  by  answering  your  proposition  in  the  same  spirit  of 
frankness  in  which  it  was  made. 

My  desire  to  go  into  the  army  proceeded  from  no  dislike  of  my  pro 
fession.  It  arose  from  the  impulse  which  electrified  the  continent. 
In  acting  under  it,  I  overlooked  domestic  inconveniences  which,  in 
this  calmer  proposal  of  going  into  Congress,  present  themselves  with 
irresistible  force.  I  have  a  wife  and  children  entirely  unprovided  for. 
They  subsist  on  the  running  profits  of  my  practice.  The  instant  this 
ceases,  they  must  either  starve  or  be  thrown  on  the  charity  of  their 
relations.  This  also  would  be  the  effect  of  my  going  into  the  army. 
But  a  state  of  war  demands  many  sacrifices  which  can  never  be  neces 
sary  in  a  time  of  peace.  The  war,  too,  I  supposed  could  not  last  more 
than  two  or  three  campaigns — at  least  upon  land ;  after  which  I  might 
return  to  my  practice  j  whereas  the  political  career  fixes  my  destiny 
for  life.  In  entering  it,  although  I  should  have  the  good  fortune  to 
reap  all  the  high  honours  and  advantages  which  your  obliging  good 
opinion  has  suggested,  yet  old  age  will  come  upon  me,  and  find  iny 
wife  and  children  as  destitute  of  provision  as  they  are  now.  I  think 
it  my  duty  to  endeavour  to  guard  against  this,  and,  as  soon  as  I  can, 
to  place  them  in  a  situation  in  which  my  death  would  not  beggar  them. 

It  is  then  that  I  might  enter,  with  advantage,  on  public  life.  I 
should  be  better  informed  and  better  known ;  and  independence  of 
fortune  might  save  me  from  those  cruel  and  diabolical  insinuations 
18*  o 


210  REFUSES  PUBLIC  LIFE.  [1808. 

which  I  have  sometimes  seen  in  the  debates  of  Congress  and  in  the 
public  prints. 

The  situation  of  our  amiable  and  beloved  countryman,  who  has  just 
returned  from  a  foreign  mission,  to  meet  the  most  perplexing  embar 
rassments,  of  a  private  nature,  at  home,  is  an  awful  lesson  on  the  sub 
ject  of  devoting  one's  self  to  his  country  before  he  shall  have  secured 
an  independent  retreat  for  old  age  :  nothing,  indeed,  can  be  more  en 
dearing  than  that  devotion. 

#  #•  #•  -5f  *  % 

I  may  add,  that  were  my  fortune  other  than  it  is,  there  is  not  in 
life  a  course  on  which  I  would  enter  with  more  spirit  and  ardour  than 
that  to  which  you  invite  me.  The  government  is  most  dear  to  my 
affections.  Its  practicability,  its  energy,  its  dignity — the  protection, 
prosperity  and  happiness  which  it  insures,  are  now  demonstrated.  And 
after  your  retirement,  the  pure  and  enlightened  man  to  whom  we  look 
as  your  successor,  will,  in  my  opinion,  have  no  equal  on  the  theatre 
of  public  life.  Yet,  notwithstanding  this,  I  am  sure  that  you  will 
approve  my  motive  in  adhering  to  the  practice  of  the  law. 
I  am,  dear  sir,  most  respectfully, 

Your  obedient  servant. 

WM.  WIRT. 

Refusing  in  this  firm  and  respectful  manner  the  alluring  offer  which 
was  made  to  him,  Wirt,  nevertheless,  was  far  from  being  an  uncon 
cerned  or  inactive  spectator  of  the  public  events.  The  time  had  now 
arrived  when  Mr.  Jefferson  was  about  to  retire  from  the  Presidency, 
and  the  nation  was  deeply  interested  in  the  purpose  of  nominating  his 
successor.  The  democratic  party,  of  which  Mr.  Jefferson  was  the 
head,  had  generally  directed  their  attention  to  the  secretary  of  state, 
Mr.  Madison,  as  the  man  most  worthy  of  the  eminent  trust  which  was 
about  to  be  vacated.  There  were,  however,  some  dissentients  in  that 
party,  opposed  to  this  nomination.  At  the  head  of  these  was  John 
Randolph,  of  Roanoke.  Certain  members  of  Congress,  of  whom  Mr. 
Randolph  was  one,  had  published  a  paper  which  purported  to  be  "A 
Protest"  against  the  proceedings  of  a  caucus,  then  recently  held  by 
the  majority  of  the  republican  members  of  the  two  houses  at  Wash 
ington,  in  which  Mr.  Madison  had  been  nominated  as  the  candidate. 
This  Protest  came  from  a  fragment  of  the  republican  party  itself,  and 
threatened  a  distinctive  division,  which  might  finally  lead  to  the  over 
throw  of  the  friends  of  the  existing  administration.  Mr.  Madison  was 
the  principal  object  of  their  attack,  and  he  was  arraigned  before  the 


CHAP.  XVI.]  ONE  OF  THE  PEOPLE.  211 

public  in  terms  of  great  severity.  The  principal  charges  brought 
against  him  were  founded,  first,  in  his  report  upon  the  Yazoo  claims, 
"recommending,"  as  the  Protest  affirmed,  "a  shameful  bargain  with 
the  unprincipled  speculators  of  the  Yazoo  companies  •"  second,  in  an 
alleged  "want  of  energy' '  of  character;  and,  lastly,  in  his  participa 
tion  in  the  authorship  of  "The  Federalist/'  with  Jay  and  Hamilton. 

Such  a  paper,  put  forth  at  this  time,  was  looked  upon  by  the  great 
body  of  the  republicans  with  deep  concern.  This  party  had  now  been 
in  power  eight  years.  The  retirement  of  Mr.  Jefferson  presented  the 
first  occasion  for  a  struggle  to  reassert  the  supremacy  of  the  party 
which  he  had  overthrown.  The  public  affairs  were  in  a  most  critical 
position,  hovering  between  peace  and  war.  Powerful  enemies  were 
in  arms  abroad.  Great  talent  was  skilfully  combined  at  home  against 
the  administration.  But  the  people  were  strong  in  the  advocacy  of 
the  party  in  power,  and  could  only  be  defeated,  in  their  hope  of  main 
taining  it,  by  such  untoward  events  as  this  division  of  their  leaders 
seemed  likely  to  encourage  and  direct. 

In  this  state  of  things,  Wirt  took  up  his  pen  in  defence  of  the  deci 
sion  of  the  caucus,  and  addressed  three  letters  "to  the  Protestors/' 
through  the  medium  of  the  Enquirer,  at  Richmond.  These  letters 
were  signed  "  One  of  the  People/'  As  they  convey  a  favourable  im 
pression  of  the  author's  talents  for  political  controversy ;  and  as  they 
refer  to  some  interesting  facts  of  public  history,  as  well  as  to  some 
questions  of  political  conduct ;  and  present  a  most  spirited  and  appro 
priate  defence  of  one  of  the  ablest  and  best  of  American  statesmen, 
the  reader,  it  is  presumed,  will  find  sufficient  interest  in  the  topics,  to 
be  gratified  with  the  perusal  of  the  following  extracts. 

These  letters  are  addressed  to  Joseph  Clay,  Abraham  Trigg,  John 
Russell,  Josiah  Masters,  George  Clinton,  Jr.,  Gurdon  S.  Mumford, 
John  Thompson,  Peter  Swart,  Edwin  Gray,  TV.  Hoge,  Samuel  Smith, 
^Daniel  Montgomery,  John  Harris,  Samuel  Maclay,  David  R.  Wil 
liams,  James  M.  Garnett  and  John  Randolph. 

"  One  of  the  people  of  the  United  States,  to  whom  you  have  lately 
addressed  yourselves,  through  the  medium  of  the  press,  returns  j'Ou 
his  acknowledgments  through  the  same  channel,  and,  as  one  of  your 
constituents,  he  expects  to  be  heard  by  you  in  his  turn.  An  appeal 
to  the  nation,  by  their  representatives  in  Congress,  and  that  under  so 
solemn  a  form  as  a  protest,  strikes  the  attention  and  commands 


212  ONE  OF  THE  PEOPLE.  11808 

respect.  The  parliamentary  protest  in  England  has  generally  been 
the  act  of  a  patriotic  minority,  resisting,  in  behalf  of  the  people,  the 
corrupt  policy  and  bold  encroachments  of  the  minister.  We  have 
been  accustomed  to  see  and  to  feel  in  those  protests  the  genuine  flame 
of  the  patriot,  the  unity  and  simplicity  of  truth,  the  energy  of  argu 
ment,  crowned  with  the  light,  the  order  and  dignity  of  eloquence. 
From  a  natural  association  of  ideas,  on  which  you,  no  doubt,  calcu 
lated,  we  received  your  protest  with  similar  feelings.  It  is  true, 
indeed,  that  in  this  country  we  have  perceived  nothing  either  of 
ministerial  oppression  or  corruption,  during  the  course  of  our  present 
administration.  The  country  has  appeared  to  us  to  flourish  in  halcyon 
peace.  Instead  of  oppression,  we  have  felt  our  burdens  lightened  • 
instead  of  corruption,  we  have  seen  only  that  political  purity  and 
chastity  which  become  a  republic.  I3ut,  in  spite  of  seeing  and  feeling, 
when  we  find  a  congressional  protest  published  to  the  world,  and  sup 
ported  by  dissentients  so  respectable,  in  number,  we  at  first  apprehend 
that  our  senses  have  been  deceived ;  that,  unknown  to  us,  there  has 
been  oppression  or  corruption,  or  both,  which  this  band  of  honest  and 
independent  patriots  is  now  about  to  expose  and  proclaim  to  the 
nation.  We  take  up  your  protest  with  hearts  beating  full  of  expecta 
tion  and  anticipated  gratitude.  But  what  is  our  disappointment, 
what  our  regret,  what  our  disgust,  when,  instead  of  a  protest  breathing 
the  elevated  spirit  of  conscious  truth  and  virtue,  telling  us  of  wrongs 
which  we  have  suffered,  and  proving  them,  too,  we  find  ourselves 
insulted  by  an  electioneering  squib  —  weak  and  inconsistent  in  its 
charges — shuffling  and  prevaricating  in  its  argument — poor,  entangled 
and  crippled  in  its  composition.  Is  it  by  these  means  that  you  seek 
to  recommend  yourselves  to  our  respect  ?  Is  it  thus  that  you  respect 
the  understandings  and  integrity  of  your  countrymen  ? 

li  The  jealous  resentment  of  a  republic  is  the  sacred  guardian  of  her 
honour  and  safety.  The  wise  and  the  virtuous  approach  and  excite 
it  with  caution ;  for  they  know  that  it  is  a  dangerous  passion,  and 
they  would  confine  it  to  its  appropriate  function,  the  punishment  of 
guilt,  and  the  preservation  of  the  republic.  It  is  only  the  weak  and 
the  wicked  who  seek  to  rouse  this  lion  passion  on  every  occasion j  the 
weak,  because  they  know  not  what  they  do ;  and  the  wicked,  because 
they  know  it  too  well ;  because  they  are,  perhaps,  in  a  situation  which 
anarchy  cannot  make  worse,  and  may  make  better;  or  because  there 
is  some  man  of  preeminent  merit  who  stands  in  the  way  of  their 
designs,  and  who  is  too  firmly  fixed  to  be  removed  by  any  other  means 
than  a  popular  storm  •  or  because  they  feel  themselves  so  perfectly 
eclipsed  in  the  plain  road  of  virtuous  and  honest  policy,  that  they  find 
it  necessary  to  fly  off  into  an  eccentric  track,  in  order  to  catch  the 
public  eye ;  or  because  they  had  rather  be  regarded  as  baleful  meteors, 
shaking  pestilence  and  plague  upon  the  earth,  than  as  salutary  planets 
of  inferior  magnitude  and  splendour,  dispensing  light  and  maintaining 


CHAP.  XVI.]  THE  CAUCUS.  213 

the  harmony  of  the  system ;  or  because  they  have  been  baulked  in 
some  favourite  appointment,  and,  writhing  under  the  united  pangs  of 
disappointed  ambition  and  rancorous  revenge,  or  panting  for  the  guilty 
glory  of  heading  a  bold  and  turbulent  faction,  they  would  involve  a 
republic  in  confusion  and  ruin,  rather  than  not  be  gratified  and  dis- 
tinguished.  These  are  truths  which  the  people  of  the  United  States 
understand ;  and  understanding  which,  they  will  scan  with  a  critical 
and  suspicious  eye  every  attempt  which  is  made  to  inflame  the 
national  resentment.  Before  they  suffer  themselves  to  be  inflamed, 
they  will  examine  well  the  causes  which  are  assigned  for  it.  Before 
they  suffer  their  confidence  to  be  withdrawn  from  a  tried,  a  faithful 
and  a  favourite  servant,  they  will  analyze  with  calmness  and  patience 
the  charges  which  are  made  against  him.  They  will  do  more  :  they 
will  look  with  an  eye  of  jealous  scrutiny  into  the  characters  and  mo 
tives  of  his  accusers.  They  will  see  whether  there  be  no  one  among 
them  to  whom  the  removal  of  that  favourite  would  be  personally  con 
venient  or  grateful ;  no  one  whose  resentment  or  whose  envy  it  would 
soothe ;  no  clan  of  subaltern  characters,  to  whose  private  and  personal 
attachment  to  a  restless  and  ambitious  chieftain,  it  would  administer 
delight.  They  will  trace  the  denunciations  to  its  source;  and  see 
whether  it  be  fair  and  patriotic,  with  a  sincere  and  single  eye  to  the 
public  good ;  or  whether  it  be  the  intrigue  of  a  cabal,  to  put  out  of 
the  way  a  man  who  is  too  honest  and  virtuous  for  their  purposes. 
As  to  you,  gentlemen,  it  is  to  be  presumed  that  you  can  defy  this 
scrutiny.  Occupying  the  station  which  you  do,  it  would  be  horrible 
to  think  otherwise  of  you.  To  turn  against  us  the  '  vantage  ground' 
which  we  have  given  you,  to  use  it  for  the  purpose  of  embroiling  us 
with  one  another,  of  ruining  our  peace,  and  overwhelming  the  republic 
with  civil  discord,  in  order  that  you  might  rise,  like  the  spirits  of  the 
storm,  to  the  sovereign  direction,  would  be  an  abuse  of  confidence,  a 
pitch  of  ingratitude  and  perfidy,  of  which  we  trust  that  our  infant 
republic  has,  as  yet,  no  examples. 

*  *  *  *  *  * 

"  You  arraign  the  late  caucus  at  Washington ;  but  have  not  you 
yourselves,  or  at  least  the  most  distinguished  among  you,  been  mem 
bers  of  caucuses  on  the  very  same  occasion  ?  "Were  you  not  members 
of  a  caucus  for  this  very  purpose  in  the  presidential  election  of  1800  ? 
You  cannot  deny  it ;  you  dare  not  deny  it.  When  it  was  found  that 
there  was  an  equal  division  in  the  electoral  votes  between  Mr.  Jeffer 
son  and  A.  Burr,  were  you  not  frequently,  nay  almost  perpetually  in 
caucus  for  the  purpose  of  devising  means  to  ensure  the  ultimate  elec 
tion  of  him  whom  you  believed  the  choice  of  the  people  ?  Were  you* 
not,  again,  in  caucus  for  the  presidential  election  which  took  place  in 
the  year  1805  ?  These  are  facts  of  public  notoriety.  You  do  not 
deny  them.  Nay,  you  admit  that  caucuses  l  have  heretofore  been 
customary:'  your  consciences  admonished  you  of  the  inconsistencies 


214  ONE  OF  THE  PEOPLE.  [1808. 

into  which  you  were  plunging,  and  you  attempt  to  excuse  yourselves. 
1  These  meetings/  you  say,  '  if  not  justified,  were  palliated  by  the 
necessity  of  the  Union :'  No  shuffling  in  the  ranks,  gentlemen.  A 
caucus  is  right  or  wrong  in  principle ;  if  wrong,  nothing  can  make  it 
right.  If  the  caucus  of  1808  was  '  in  direct  hostility  with  the  princi 
ples  of  the  Constitution ;'  if  it  was  a  l  gross  assumption  of  power  not 
delegated  by  the  people /  the  caucuses  of  which  you  were  members, 
were  equally  ( in  direct  hostility  with  the  Constitution /  were  equally 
'  gross  assumptions  of  power  not  delegated  by  the  people /  for  the 
Constitution  has  undergone  no  change  in  this  respect.  It  gave  no 
more  caucussing  power  in  1800-4,  than  it  gives  in  1808.  Out  of 
your  own  mouth,  then,  you  are  condemned :  <  wherein  ye  judge  others, 
ye  condemn  yourselves;  for  ye  that  judge,  do  the  same  things/ 
*  #  •*  #  #  # 

"Again:  You  accuse  the  members  of  Congress  who  formed  the 
late  caucus  at  Washington  of  attempting  to  produce  'an  undue  bias 
on  the  presidential  election — by  the  sanction  of  congressional  names/ 
Now,  pray,  what  was  the  object  of  your  protest — of  your  indecent  and 
unfounded  invective  against  Mr.  Madison?  Was  that  intended  to 
produce  no  '  bias  on  the  presidential  election/  and  to  produce  it,  too, 
1  by  the  sanction  of  congressional  names  V  Blush  at  the  inconsisten 
cies  in  which  you  have  involved  yourselves — inconsistencies  which 
prove  the  pure  and  noble  policy  by  which  you  are  actuated,  and 
which,  rely  upon  it,  will  not  be  shortly  forgotten  by  your  country. 

"But  what  is  all  this  clamour  and  uproar  about  caucuses,  and 
which,  all  at  once,  have  become  so  fraught  with  danger  to  the  coun 
try  !  The  people  of  the  United  States  see  nothing  in  a  caucus  but  a 
conference  among  the  members  of  Congress  to  ascertain  the  favourite 
of  a  majority  of  the  people.  The  presidential  election  is  a  prevailing 
topic  of  conversation  in  every  quarter  of  the  Union,  for  a  considerable 
time  before  it  takes  place.  The  pretensions  of  the  several  candidates 
are  every  where  publicly  and  freely  discussed.  The  members  of  Con 
gress,  then,  will  have  learnt  the  sentiments  of  their  respective  consti 
tuents,  before  they  leave  home.  The  object  of  a  caucus  is  understood 
to  be  nothing  more  nor  less  than  to  bring  those  sentiments  together, 
and,  by  comparing  them,  to  ascertain  who  has  the  preponderance  of 
popular  favour.  What  odds  does  it  make  how  this  conference  is 
called  ]  whether  by  an  anonymous  card  or  one  signed  by  the  name 
of  Mr.  Bradley  ?  The  essential  object  is  the  conference ;  and  so  that 
one  be  fairly  obtained,  the  people  care  very  little  about  the  forms  and 
ceremonies  which  led  to  it.  As  to  the  assertion  that  the  notice  was 
private,  we  require  evidence.  We  have  seen  a  very  different  state 
ment  of  this  fact — a  card  published  in  the  name  of  Mr.  Bradley,  and 
a  counter-card  in  the  name  of  Mr.  Somebody-else.  And  as  to  you, 
gentlemen,  we  presume  that  it  would  have  made  very  little  difference 
whether  the  notice  was  public  or  private ;  since  your  new-born  reli- 


CHAP.  XVI.]  THE  CAUCUS.  215 

gion  on  this  subject,  you  would  have  been  too  scrupulous  or  too  stately 
to  have  attended,  although  the  notice  had  come  to  you  in  the  form  of 
a  subpama  ad  testificandum,  and;  that,  on  the  solemn  call  of  your 
country. 


"  You  seem  to  think  that  a  congressional  caucus  has  the  power  of 
forcing  on  the  people  whomsoever  they  please  as  President — that  by 
bribes  in  one  shape  and  another,  a  caucus  composed  of  members  of 
Congress,  might  be  induced  to  place  any  candidate  in  nomination,  and 
that  such  nomination  would  bind  the  people  like  a  magic  spell ;  that 
from  it  they  would  have  no  possibility  of  appeal  or  escape.  Do  you 
really  believe  all  this,  gentlemen  ?  If  you  do,  we  are  sorry  for  you. 
You  have  lived  to  very  little  purpose,  and  know  but  little  of  the  inde 
pendence  of  the  American  character.  Waiving,  at  present,  your  re 
mark  on  the  corruptibility  of  Congress,  and  of  which  it  is  hoped  you 
do  not  speak  experimentally — let  me  ask  you  this  question ; — do  you 
suppose  that,  if  one  of  you  (and  let  it  be  the  most  prominent  cha 
racter  among  you,)  could  have  prevailed  on  the  last  caucus  to  put  him 
in  nomination,  the  people  would  have  had  no  choice  but  to  have  made 
him  President  ?  It  is  impossible  to  read  the  question,  without  smiling 
at  the  supposition  of  an  answer  in  the  affirmative.  The  nomination 
would  have  been  laughed  to  scorn.  And  why  would  it?  Because 
there  are  men  of  another  stamp  who  are  willing  to  serve  us :  men, 
whom  we  have  tried  for  upwards  of  thirty  years ;  men,  who  sat  at 
the  helm  through  the  storms  of  our  revolutionary  war;  men,  whom 
we  have  ever  found  faithful  and  vigilant ;  men,  as  profound  in  policy, 
as  they  are  upright  in  their  views;  men,  who  have  never  had  an  ob 
ject  but  their  country's  good;  men,  compared  to  whom  you  are  but 
as  boys  of  yesterday.  These  are  the  men  whom  our  fathers  have 
gone  down  to  their  graves,  blessing ;  and  whom  we  certainlv  shall  not 
desert,  because  of  your  petulance  and  importunity/' 

The  protestors  had  affirmed  that  a  caucus  was  "  in  direct  hostility 
with  the  principles  of  the  Constitution" — but  had  added  to  this  de 
claration — "  we  do  not  say  that  a  consultation  amongst  the  members 
of  Congress  respecting  the  persons  to  be  recommended  for  the  two 
highest  offices  in  the  Union,  may  not,  in  some  extraordinary  crisis, 
be  proper" — and  as  an  instance  of  such  a  crisis,  they  had  referred  to 
the  first  election  of  Mr.  Jefferson, — (( The  federalists" — they  said  in 
touching  upon  this  election, — "  presented  a  strong  phalanx,  and  either 
to  succeed  at  all,  or  to  prevent  them  from  placing  the  candidate  for 
the  Vice-Presidency  in  the  presidential  chair,  it  was  necessary  to  exert 


216  ONE  OF  THE  PEOPLE.  [1803 

the  combined  efforts  of  the  whole  republican  party."     To  this  point, 
"  One  of  the  People"  asks : 

"  But  why  are  you  not  in  caucus,  gentlemen  ?  for  the  very  crisis 
has  arrived,  which,  according  to  your  principles,  would  render  it 
proper.  There  is  a  party  which  is  just  as  obnoxious  to  you  as  ever 
the  federal  party  was,  and  which  we  believe  you  wish,  most  fervently 
wish,  to  annihilate.  It  is  the  republican  party,  at  the  head  of  which 
is  the  present  administration.  It  will  be  in  vain  for  you  to  deny  this. 
It  is  not  in  your  Protest  only  that  we  look  for  the  evidence  of  it :  it 
is  in  your  conduct  on  the  floor  of  Congress.  From  an  occasional 
difference  with  the  measures  of  the  administration,  we  should  not  have 
drawn  this  conclusion,  because  such  a  result  might  have  been  expected 
from  the  different  structures  and  habits  of  different  minds.  But  when 
we  find  you  organized  into  a  corps  against  the  administration,  and  pur 
suing  your  opposition  with  as  much  system,  inflexibility,  and,  I  will 
add,  rancour,  as  you  manifested  towards  the  federal  administrations, 
we  can  have  no  doubt,  that  you  wish  their  annihilation  as  devoutly  as 
ever  you  wished  that  of  the  federalists.  Yes,  it  is  not  Mr.  Madison 
only,  it  is  the  administration  which  offends  you.  It  is  their  united 
effulgence  which  produces  all  this  agitation  and  screaming  among  the 
birds-  of  night.  They  long  for  the  day-fall,  which  better  suits  the 
dimness  of  their  sight ;  for  the  season  of  darkness,  when  the  pecu 
liar  conformation  of  their  organs  may  give  them  an  advantage,  and 
their  fierce  and  predatory  spirit  may  have  full  scope  for  indulgence 
and  satiety. "  *  *  * 

After  some  cogent  arguments  in  favour  of  the  caucus  principle,  the 
author  proceeds : 

"  That  conference  is  a  medium  of  communication  between  the 
states.  It  shows  to  one  state  the  opinions  of  another,  and  to  the 
United  States  the  result  of  the  whole.  Those  who,  on  the  compari 
son,  find  themselves  in  the  minority,  if  they  be  the,  genuine  friends 
of  republicanism,  of  harmony  and  of  the  Union,  will  sacrifice  their 
private  predilection  to  those  great  public  objects ;  and  thus,  by  recip 
rocal  concessions,  feuds  between  the  states  will  be  prevented,  congres 
sional  intrigue  will  be  avoided,  and  these  elections  will  continue  to 
fall,  where  the  Constitution  intended  them  to  fall,  on  the  people,  by 
their  electors.  Such  will  always  be  the  result,  while  the  people  con 
tinue  fraternal,  united,  virtuous  and  patriotic. — Or  say  that  a  country 
is  cursed  with  a  congressional  minority,  who,  instead  of  thus  sacri 
ficing  to  the  public  good,  would  sacrifice  every  earthly  and  every  hea 
venly  consideration  to  the  views  of  their  own  inordinate  ambition ; 
then,  there  is  the  more  occasion  for  concert  and  good  understanding 
among  the  virtuous  and  pacific  majority.  So  that  whether  in  times 


CHAP.  XVI.]  THE  CAUCUS.  217 

of  internal  peace  or  trouble,  the  conference  is  constitutional,  harmless 
and  advantageous. 

"  When  was  it  ever  more  so,  than  on  the  present  occasion  ?  When 
(to  say  the  least  of  them)  a  parcel  of  hot-brained  young  men,  aspiring 
to  resemble  Shakspeare's  character  of  the  earl  of  Warwick,  to  be  the 
1  builders  up  and  pullers  down  of  Presidents/  confederate  themselves 
together,  to  traduce  and  ruin  one  of  the  most  virtuous  and  able  public 
servants  that  ever  blessed  a  free  nation  ?  And  did  you  suppose  that 
it  would  be  in  the  power  of  such  men  as  you  are,  to  shake  the  grati 
tude  and  attachment  of  the  people  to  such  a  man  as  Mr.  Madison  ? 
What  could  you  have  thought  of  us?  what  could  you  have  thought 
of  yourselves  ?  Of  Mr.  Madison,  we  had  supposed  it  might  have  been 
truly  said,  as  Dr.  Johnson  is  reported  to  have  said  of  Sir  Joshua  Rey 
nolds,  that  he  is  one  of  those  men  with  whom,  if  a  person  were  to 
quarrel,  he  would  be  the  most  at  a  loss  how  to  abuse.  But  in  this 
sentiment,  Dr.  Johnson  went  upon  the  supposition,  that  the  abuse 
should  proceed  upon  facts,  or  at  least,  have  some  small  degree  of  re 
semblance  to  them.  The  power  of  invention  and  of  distortion,  which 
you  have  displayed,  were  altogether  beyond  his  calculation." 

The  objection  of  "want  of  energy"  is  then  taken  up.  The  Protest 
had  inveighed  against  Mr.  Madison  in  this  language : 

"  We  ask  for  energy,  and  we  are  told  of  his  moderation.  We  ask 
for  talents,  and  the  reply  is,  his  unassuming  merit.  We  ask  what 
were  his  services  in  the  cause  of  public  liberty,  and  we  are  directed 
to  the  pages  of  the  Federalist,  written  in  conjunction  with  Alexander 
Hamilton  and  John  Jay,  in  which  the  most  extravagant  of  their  doc 
trines  are  maintained  and  propagated.  We  ask  for  consistency,  as  a 
republican  standing  forth  to  stem  the  torrent  of  oppression  which 
threatened  to  overwhelm  the  liberties  of  the  country :  we  ask  for  that 
high  and  honourable  sense  of  duty  which  would,  at  all  times,  turn 
with  loathing  and  abhorrence  from  any  compromise  with  fraud  and 
speculation.  We  ask  in  vain." 

The  reply  to  this  is  spirited,  caustic  and  personal,  presenting  a 
strong  example  of  the  author's  power  of  sarcasm. 

"  This  is  just  such  pretty  little  sing-song  composition,  as  school 
boys,  with  senses  half  awake,  dream  over  for  their  first  thesis.  And 
who  are  you,  that  hold  this  language  concerning  Mr.  Madison  ?  As 
to  the  most  prominent  among  you,  we  ask  for  your  energy,  and  we 
are  told  of  your  arrogance ;  we  ask  for  your  talents,  and  the  reply  is 

VOL.  L— 19 


218  ONE  OF  THE  PEOPLE.  [1803. 

your  sarcasms  and  your  petulance ;  we  ask  what  are  your  services  in 
the  cause  of  public  liberty,  and  we  are  directed  to  your  co-operation 
with  the  British  cabinet  and  the  British  author  of  War  in  Disguise, 
to  justify  the  piratical  plunder  of  our  commerce;  we  ask  for  your 
consistency  as  republicans,  and  we  are  told  of  what  you  were  and  what 
you  are  —  of  your  former  attachment  to  the  pure  principles  of  the 
administration,  and  your  present  delirious  and  frantic  invectives  against 
them.  "We  ask  for  that  high  and  honourable  sense  of  duty,  which, 
trampling  with  disdain  on  all  selfish  considerations  of  private  pique 
and  personal  aggrandizement,  looks  only  to  the  public  good.  We  ask 
for*lhe  mind  which  pursues  that  great  object  with  calmness  and  dis 
cretion  ;  which,  instead  of  fuming  and  fretting  itself  upon  a  partial 
view  of  a  measure,  takes  the  time  to  look  comprehensively,  patiently 
and  calmly  to  all  its  consequences,  in  all  its  bearings ;  to  allow  to 
every  consideration  its  due  weight,  and  then,  instead  of  rushing  to  its 
decision,  in  a  state  of  feverish  passion,  takes  its  ground  with  that  dig 
nity  which  results  from  a  conscious  mastery  of  the  subject  —  from 
mingled  temperance  and  firmness. — We  ask  for  those  things ;  we  ask 
in  vain.  As  to  the  rest  of  you,  we  ask  who  are  you  ?  and  we  are  told 
— you  are  members  of  Congress.  Wre  ask  how  you  have  distinguished 
yourselves  ?  and  we  are  pointed — to  your  PROTEST  ! — And  you  are 
the  men  who  expect,  that  by  giving  your  names  to  the  world,  you  can 
destroy  Mr.  Madison  !  It  was,  indeed,  high  time  for  you  to  have 
received  this  salutary  admonition.  No,  gentlemen,  believe  it,  you  arc 
not  the  kind  of  characters  who  are  fitted  to  sway  the  destinies  of  this 
nation.  We  would  as  soon  commit  them  to  f  Macedonia's  madman, 
or  the  Swede/  Nor  are  the  people  of  the  United  States  an  Athenian 
mob,  on  whom  you  can  play  off  your  intrigues  with  success.  You 
will  not  speedily  gain  with  us  the  name  of  patriots,  by  means  of  your 
rashness  and  vociferation  ;  nor  will  you  prevail  upon  us,  by  fictitious 
charges,  to  banish  from  our  bosom  another  Aristides.  You  forget  that 
we  have  the  example  of  Athens  before  us.  If,  after  such  an  example, 
we  could  repeat  her  follies  and  her  crimes — banish  our  patriots,  and 
applaud  and  flatter  the  fiery  demagogue,  until  we  raised  him  into  a 
despot  —  we  should  deserve  the  remorse,  the  vain  and  unavailing 
remorse,  the  ruin  and  the  infamy,  which  finally  overtook  her." 

The  following  brief  history  of  the  celebrated  Yazoo  case  is  not  with 
out  interest : 

"  But,  what  do  you  mean  by  raising  this  uproar  against  Mr.  Ma 
dison  about  the  abominable  Yazoo  business  ?  We  know  that  he  is  as 
perfectly  clear  of  that  transaction  as  you  are ;  and  you  know  it  too. 
We  understand  you,  gentlemen.  We  see  you  through  all  your  mazes. 
You  know  that  this  Yazoo  business  was  universally  odious;  you 
know  how  highly  and  universally  our  indignation  was  excited.  You 


CHAP.  XVI.]  THE  YAZOO  SPECULATION.  219 

believe  that  indignation  so  blind  that  you  can  lead  it  as  you  list,  and 
so  furious  that  you  can  cause  it  to  sweep  into  indiscriminate  ruin  all 
against  whom  it  is  your  pleasure  to  direct  it.  You  are  mistaken, 
gentlemen.  We  are  not  so  blind  as  you  suppose  us.  Nor  will  you 
find  it  so  easy  a  matter  as  you  expect,  to  make  us,  by  misrepresenta 
tions,  the  tools  of  your  designs  and  the  instruments  of  our  own  dis 
grace.  Unfortunately  for  you,  we  know  the  course  of  that  whole 
affair  too  well  to  be  imposed  upon  by  you.  We  will  show  you  that 
we  do. 

"  When  that  country  which  had  been  the  scene  and  the  subject  of 
the  Yazoo  speculation,  was  ceded  by  the  State  of  Georgia  to  the 
United  States,  it  passed,  with  all  the  incumbrances  and  claims  which 
previously  existed  upon  it.  These  were  derived  from  various  sources : 
1st.  From  the  British  government  while  the  country  belonged  to  the 
British  :  2d.  From  the  Spanish  crown  after  its  conquest  of  West 
Florida :  3d.  From  occupancy  and  settlement  only ;  and  4th.  From 
the  State  of  Georgia.  Petitions,  memorials  and  remonstrances 
swarmed  before  Congress,  and,  among  others,  those  of  the  Yazoo 
speculators.  It  became  important  to  the  United  States  to  ascertain 
how  many  of  those  claims  were  well  founded  and  deserved  to  be  con 
firmed  ;  how  many  were  fictitious  and  deserved  to  be  rejected.  By 
an  act  of  Congress,  passed  in  1800,  the  commissioners  of  the  United 
States  who  had  been  previously  appointed  to  settle  limits  with  the 
State  of  Georgia,  were  authorized,  1st.  <to  enquire  into  the  claims 
which  are  or  shall  be  made  by  settlers,  or  any  other  persons  whatso 
ever  to  any  part  of  the  lands  aforesaid/  2d.  l  To  receive  from  such 
settlers  and  claimants  any  propositions  of  compromise'  3d.  l  To  lay 
a  full  statement  of  the  claims  and  propositions,  together  with  their 
opinion  thereon,  before  Congress/  Mr.  Madison,  the  secretary  of 
state,  Mr.  Gallatin,  the  secretary  of  the  treasury,  and  Mr.  Lincoln, 
the  then  attorney-general  of  the  United  States,  were  the  commission 
ers  appointed  to  perform  those  laborious  duties.  They  discharged 
them  with  ability;  and  all  three  concurred  in  the  report  upon  this 
subject.  In  explaining  the  Yazoo  claims,  so  far  are  they  from  sup 
pressing  one  single  feature  of  that  hideous  transaction,  that  they  open 
up  all  the  sources  of  corruption  in  which  the  Georgia  law  originated, 
point  out  the  names  of  the  corrupted  members,  and  arrange  and  ex- 
liibit  the  proofs  of  that  corruption.  In  short,  they  exhibit  the  whole 
of  that  evidence  which  was  afterwards  the  theme  of  so  much  eloquent 
declamation  in  Congress.  Never  was  there  a  case  of  infamous  cor 
ruption  more  luminously,  more  ably,  and  more  cogently  developed 
and  displayed,  than  that  of  the  Yazoo,  in  their  report.  They  were 
directed,  however,  by  the  law  under  which  they  were  acting,  to  re 
ceive  any  proposals  of  compromise  which  might  be  made  by  the  Yazoo 
claimants,  and  to  report  such  proposals  to  Congress,  together  with 
their  opinion  thereon.  They  accordingly  receive  and  report  the  Yazoo 


220  ONE  OF  THE  PEOPLE.  [1808. 

proposals,  and  give  their  opinion  that  they  were  inadmissible.  At 
the  same  time  they  think  that  there  were  features  in  this  transaction 
which  deserved  their  consideration  and  that  of  Congress.  For  instance, 
a  great  number  of  virtuous  and  innocent  men  at  a  distance  from  the 
scene  of  action,  and  who  knew  nothing  of  the  corruption  in  which  the 
law  of  Georgia  originated,  had  been  induced  to  become  purchasers  of 
Yazoo  lands.  The  law  itself  on  the  face  of  it  was  not  only  fair,  but 
popular.  For  it  was  an  act  supplementary  to  an  act  entitled,  ( an  act 
appropriating  a  part  of  the  unlocated  territory  of  this  stale  to  the 
payment  of  the  late  state  troops.'  The  Assembly  of  the  State  of 
Georgia,  a  body  having  full  power  on  the  subject,  pledge  the  faith  of 
the  state  for  the  validity  of  the  grant.  On  the  faith  of  this  pledge, 
distant  men,  as  virtuous  as  any  in  the  United  States,  and  knowing 
nothing  of  this  case  except  the  fair  face  of  the  law,  were  induced  to 
take  titles  under  it.  The  names  of  some  of  these  men,  well  known 
in  Virginia,  appear  in  the  report.  Was  it  competent  to  the  State  of 
Georgia,  one  only  of  the  contracting  parties,  to  revoke  the  law,  and 
that  to  the  prejudice  of  these  innocent  purchasers  ?  These  were  dif 
ficulties  which  the  commissioners  had  to  consider  and  to  report  their 
opinion  upon.  The  United  States  had  now  taken  the  place  of  Geor 
gia  ;  it  had  acquired  by  cession  a  vast  territory ;  and  besides  doing 
strict  justice  to  itself,  it  was  bound  to  do  what  was  equitable  to  others. 
There  was  another  view  of  the  subject  highly  interesting  to  the  go 
vernment.  It  was  bound  in  its  decision  to  consult  its  own  dignity  in 
the  mode  of  adjusting  these  disputes,  and  ?/s  own  interest  in  removing 
all  the  sources  of  litigation  and  quieting  the  titles  of  its  own  future 
grantees  in  this  territory.  Considering  these  circumstances,  the  real 
hardship  of  the  case  to  the  innocent  purchasers  and  the  rich  acquisi 
tion  which  the  United  States  had  gained  in  the  territory,  the  three 
commissioners  concurred  in  thinking  it  the  most  liberal  and  sound 
policy  to  put  an  end  to  all  disputes,  by  giving  those  claimants  a  rea 
sonable  compensation  for  their  disappointment  and  losses.  This  is 
the  whole  case." 

We  close  these  extracts  with  the  eloquent  defence  of  Mr.  Madison, 
which  seems  to  have  been  prompted  no  less  by  the  just  appreciation 
of  his  public  service,  than  by  a  warm  personal  regard  for  the  distin 
guished  subject  of  these  remarks. 

"  You  object  to  Mr.  Madison,  the  want  of  energy.  The  objection 
shows  the  company  which  you  have  been  keeping.  It  proves  that 
confederacy  with  your  former  political  adversaries,  which  has  been  so 
often,  and,  we  now  find,  so  justly  charged  upon  you.  It  is  the  mere 
echo  of  the  old  federal  reproach  against  Mr.  Jefferson,  caught  by  you, 
to  be  reverberated  against  his  expected  successor.  The  want  of  en 
ergy  !  How  has  Mr.  Madison  shown  it  ?  Was  it  in  standing  abreast 


CHAP.  XVI.]  ONE  OF  Till.-:  PEOPLE.  221 

with  the  van  of  our  revolutionary  patriots,  and  braving  the  horrors  of 
a  seven  years'  war  for  liberty,  while  you  were  shuddering  at  the  sound 
of  the  storm,  and  clinging  closer  with  terror  to  your  mothers'  breasts  ? 
Was  it,  on  the  declaration  of  our  independence,  in  being  among  the 
first  and  most  effective  agents  in  casting  aside  the  feeble  threads  which 
so  poorly  connected  the  States  together,  and,  in  lieu  of  them,  substi 
tuting  that  energetic  bond  of  union,  the  Federal  Constitution  ?  Was 
it  in  the  manner  in  which  he  advocated  the  adoption  of  this  substitute; 
in  the  courage  and  firmness  with  which  he  met,  on  this  topic,  fought 
hand  to  hand,  and  finally  vanquished  that  boasted  prodigy  of  nature, 
Patrick  Henry?  Where  was  this  timid  and  apprehensive  spirit  which 
you  are  pleased  to  ascribe  to  Mr.  Madison,  when  he  sat  under  the 
sound  of  Henry's  voice  for  days  and  weeks  together;  when  he  saw 
that  Henry,  whose  soul  had  so  undauntedly  led  the  revolution,  shrink 
ing  back  from  his  bold  experiment,  from  the  energy  of  this  new  and 
untried  Constitution ;  when  he  heard  the  magic  of  his  eloquence  ex 
erted  to  its  highest  pitch,  in  painting,  with  a  prophet's  fire,  the  oppres 
sions  which  would  flow  from  it ;  in  harrowing  up  the  soul  with  antici 
pated  horrors,  and  enlisting  even  the  thunders  of  Heaven  in  his  cause  ? 
How  did  it  happen  that  the  feeble  and  effeminate  spirit  of  James 
Madison,  instead  of  flying  in  confusion  and  dismay  before  this  awful 
and  tremendous  combination,  sat  serene  and  unmoved  upon  its  throne ; 
that,  with  a  penetration  so  vigorous  and  clear,  he  dissipated  these 
phantoms  of  fancy;  rallied  back  the  courage  of  the  House  to  the 
charge,  and,  in  the  State  of  Virginia,  in  which  Patrick  Henry  was 
almost  adored  as  infallible,  succeeded  in  throwing  that  Henry  into  a 
minority  ?  Is  this  the  proof  of  his  want  of  energy  ?  Or  will  you  find 
it  in  the  manner  in  which  he  watched  the  first  movements  of  the  Fe 
deral  Constitution ;  in  the  boldness  with  which  he  resisted,  even  in  a 
Washington,  what  he  deemed  infractions  of  its  spirit;  in  the  inde 
pendence,  ability  and  vigour  with  which,  in  spite  of  declining  health, 
he  maintained  this  conflict  during  eight  years  ?  He  was  then  in  a 
minority.  Turn  to  the  debates  of  Congress  and  read  his  arguments : 
you  will  see  how  the  business  of  a  virtuous  and  able  minority  is  con 
ducted.  Do  you  discover  in  them  any  evidence  of  want  of  energy  ? 
Yes ;  if  energy  consist,  as  you  seem  to  think  it  does,  in  saying  rude 
things,  in  bravado  and  bluster,  in  pouring  a  muddy  torrent  of  coarse 
invective,  as  destitute  of  argument  as  unwarranted  by  provocation,  you 
will  find  great  evidence  of  want  of  energy  in  his  speeches.  But  if 
true  energy  be  evinced,  as  we  think  it  is,  by  the  calm  and  dignified, 
yet  steady,  zealous  and  persevering  pursuit  of  an  object,  his  whole 
conduct  during  that  period  is  honourably  marked  with  energy.  And 
that  energy  rested  on  the  most  solid  and  durable  basis — conscious  rec 
titude  ;  supported  by  the  most  profound  and  extensive  information, 
by  an  habitual  power  of  investigation,  which  unravelled,  with  intuitive 
certainty,  the  most  intricate  subjects,  and  an  eloquence,  chaste,  lumi- 
19* 


222  MR.  MADISON.  [1808. 

nous  and  cogent,  which  won  respect,  while  it  forced  conviction.  We 
have  compared  some  of  your  highest  and  most  vaunted  displays  with 
the  speeches  of  Mr.  Madison,  during  his  services  in  Congress.  What 
a  contrast !  It  is  the  noisy  and  short-lived  babbling  of  a  brook  after 
a  rain,  compared  with  the  majestic  course  of  the  Potomac.  Yet,  you 
have  the  vanity  and  hardihood  to  ask  for  the  proof  of  his  talents ! 
You,  who  have  as  yet  shown  no  talents  that  can  be  of  service  to  your 
country;  no  talents  beyond  those  of  the  merciless  Indian,  who  dexte 
rously  strikes  a  tomahawk  into  the  defenceless  heart !  But  what  an 
idea  is  yours  of  energy  !  You  feel  a  constitutional  irritability — you 
indulge  it,  and  you  call  that  indulgence  energy !  Sudden  fits  of  spleen 
— transient  starts  of  passion — wild  paroxysms  of  fury — the  more  slow 
and  secret  workings  of  envy  and  resentment  —  cruel  taunts  and  sar 
casms — the  dreams  of  disordered  fancy — the  crude  abortions  of  short 
sighted  theory — the  delirium  and  ravings  of  a  hectic  fever — this  is 
your  notion  of  energy !  Heaven  preserve  our  country  from  such  en 
ergy  as  this !  If  this  be  the  kind  of  energy  which  you  deny  to  Mr. 
Madison,  the  people  of  this  country  will  concur  in  your  denial.  But 
if  you  deny  him  that  salutary  energy  which  qualities  him  to  pursue 
his  country's  happiness  and  to  defend  her  rights,  we  follow  up  the 
course  of  his  public  life,  and  demand  the  proof  of  your  charge :  for 
we  beg  you  not  to  think  so  highly  of  yourselves,  nor  so  meanly  of  us, 
as  to  suppose  that  your  general  assertion  will  pass  with  us  for  proofs: 
we  have  not  yet  seen  the  evidence  of  candour  and  virtue  which  enti 
tles  you  to  this  high  ground.  To  your  proofs,  then,  and  to  the  retro 
spect  of  his  life.  Do  you  remember  that  dark  and  disastrous  period, 
during  the  administration  of  General  Washington,  when  the  British 
marine  was  taking  some  of  those  stately  strides  which  threatened  to 
crush  our  infant  commerce  in  the  bud  ?  Do  you  remember  the  reso 
lutions  brought  forward  by  Mr.  Madison  at  that  period,  to  restrict  the 
British  commerce  itself,  and  avenge  the  wrongs  done  to  his  country  ? 
Do  you  remember  those  celebrated  resolutions,  and  the  raptures  of 
applause  with  which  they  were  received  by  the  people,  for  their  well- 
timed  and  well-directed  energy?  It  may  be  convenient  to  you  not  to 
remember  these  things;  but  do  not  believe  that  we  shall  forget  them, 
nor  that  we  shall  fail  to  compare  the  spirited  and  highly  applauded 
policy  which  he  recommended  then,  with  the  policy  which  our  present 
wise  and  virtuous  republican  minority  are  recommending  toward  the 
same  nation  now,  on  account  of  the  same  kind  of  aggressions. 

#•  -x-  •*  #•  -x- 

"  Again,  was  Mr.  Madison's  want  of  energy  shown  in  the  year 
1799  ?  In  that  year,  (  the  political  hemisphere'  was  so  far  from  having 
'  brightened  a  little/  that  its  darkness  had  thickened  till  it  could  be 
felt.  The  Alien  and  Sedition  laws  waved  their  baleful  sceptres  over 
the  continent,  and  the  bosoms  of  patriots  were  every  where  filled  with 
consternation,  and  almost  with  despair.  It  was  believed  that  public 


CHAP.  XVI.]  MR.  MADISON.  223 

liberty  had  no  hope,  no  refuge  but  in  the  State  governments.  It  had 
been  announced  from  the  presidential  chair,  that  there  was  a  party  in 
Virginia,  which  was  to  be  'ground  into  dust  and  ashes/  The  reso 
lutions  of  Colonel  Taylor,  in  1798,  treated  with  neglect  or  contempt 
by  the  other  great  States,  had  proved  that  the  Legislature  of  Virginia 
was  the  last  stand  of  our  political  freedom  and  happiness : — and  to 
crown  the  climax  of  danger  and  disconsolation,  the  distinguished 
Patrick  Henry  came  again  from  retirement,  with  the  view,  as  it  was 
understood,  to  assault  and  dislodge  them  from  this  their  last  station. 
Such  was  the  inauspicious,  the  all-important,  the  decisive  crisis,  when 
James  Madison,  with  a  frame  still  languishing  under  sickness,  but 
with  a  spirit  firm,  erect  and  intrepid,  came  forth  in  the  cause  of  liberty 
and  his  country.  Who  can  forget  that  moment  ?  Who  can  forget 
how  the  little  band  of  Virginian  patriots  crowded  around  this  repub 
lican  champion,  to  catch  the  accents  of  a  voice  rendered  feeble  by 
disease  ?  Even  yet  we  have  this  virtuous  and  fraternal  group  before 
us.  Who  can  forget  how  the  night  of  despair  first  began  to  give 
way; — how  hope,  at  first,  faintly  dawned  upon  each  cheek,  as  uncer 
tain  of  the  issue ;  until  under  the  inspiring  strains  of  his  voice,  she 
assumed  a  deep  and  determined  glow,  and  sparkled  with  exultation  in 
every  eye  ?  Who  can  forget  the  resplendent  triumph  of  truth  and 
reason  exhibited  in  his  report  ?  Who  that  loves  his  country  can  cease 
to  love  the  man,  whose  genius  and  firmness  gained  that  triumph  ? 
Not  the  American  people,  be  assured,  gentlemen.  Yet  we  find  that 
one  of  you,  under  the  signature  of  Falkland,  in  a  late  Enquirer,  can 
recall  that  epoch  with  far  different  emotions ;  can  gratify  his  spleen 
by  fancying  what  would  have  been  the  result  of  a  rencontre  between 
Mr.  Henry  and  Mr.  Madison,  if  it  had  not  been  prevented  by  the 
death  of  the  former; — how  the  genius  of  Madison  would  have  sunk 
and  fled  before  the  impetuous  and  overwhelming  eloquence  of  Mr. 
Henry.  The  writer  obviously  derives  a  species  of  malignant  pleasure 
from  brooding  over  this  imaginary  triumph,  although  if  gained,  it 
would  have  been  at  the  expense  of  his  country.  This  is  his  virtue  : 
this,  too,  is  his  candour !  Had  he  forgotten  the  convention  of  Vir 
ginia,  where  Henry,  in  all  his  glory,  was  foiled  by  the  transcendant 
powers  of  James  Madison  ?  Or,  did  he  think  the  defence  of  the 
Alien  and  Sedition  laws  a  better  cause,  than  the  contending  for  pre 
vious  amendments  to  the  Constitution  ?  Wretched,  most  wretched  if* 
the  fate  of  that  writer  or  that  man  who  deserts  the  plain  highway  of 
conscience  and  of  candour,  for  the  dark  and  crooked  mazes  of  in 
trigue  and  cunning — of  trick  and  misrepresentation :  he  may,  as  the 
wise  son  of  Sirach  has  said,  '  work  his  way  for  a  time,  like  a  mole 
under  ground,  but  by-and  bye,  he  blunders  into  light,  and  stands  ex 
posed  with  all  his  dirt  upon  his  head.' 

•x-  *  *  -x-  -x-  •* 

"  Mr.  Madison;  it  seems,  left  his  post  in  Congress,  in  the  moment 


224  ONE  OF  THE  PEOPLE.  [1808. 

of  danger,  and  took  refuge  in  retirement.  This  is  just  as  candid  as 
the  rest  of  your  reproaches.  The  case  was  this.  Mr.  Madison  had 
devoted  two-and-twenty  years  of  the  prime  and  flower  of  his  life  to 
the  service  of  his  country :  he  had  not  spent  those  years  in  saying 
1  yea  and  nay/  nor,  what  is  worse,  in  venting  barbarous  sarcasms,  in 
writing  protests  disgraceful  to  his  virtue  and  understanding,  and  in 
playing  the  part  of  Thersites  in  the  camp  of  Agamemnon !  No ; 
those  years  had  been  spent  in  beneficial  services,  in  the  discharge  of 
the  most  arduous  duties,  in  the  most  intense  and  unrelaxing  exertion 
of  his  pre-eminent  faculties  in  the  cause  of  liberty  and  republican 
government.  In  the  mean  time,  his  private  affairs  had  been  neglected 
— his  constitution  had  received  a  serious  shock — his  health  was  in  a 
visible  and  alarming  decline.  In  these  circumstances,  at  the  close  of 
General  Washington's  administration,  he  sought  an  interval  to  put 
his  estate  in  order,  to  recruit  his  health,  if  that  were  possible,  or,  if 
otherwise,  to  provide  for  the  awful  change  which  he  had  too  much 
reason  to  apprehend.  It  was  in  1797  and  ;9S,  that  he  was  thus  en 
gaged.  But  we  have  seen,  that  in  1799,  when  the  dangers  of  his 
country  had  increased  almost  to  desperation,  although  his  health  was 
so  far  from  being  confirmed  that  it  had  become  worse,  he  again  made 
his  appearance  on  the  political  theatre,  with  the  same  signal  gallantry 
which  had  ever  distinguished  him.  He  has  been  in  public  life  ever 
since.  And  those  two  years  of  repose  and  of  private  duty,  so  reason 
able,  so  necessary  to  him,  are  what  you  would  have  us  to  consider  as 
a  cowardly  flight  from  danger  !  We  are  not  barbarians.  You  defeat 
your  own  purpose,  gentlemen ;  you  wish  to  destroy  Mr.  Madison ; 
but  you  force  us  to  recall  his  services,  and  to  reflect  how  immaculate 
must  be  that  life,  against  which  malice  itself  can  bring  no  better 

charges. 

#  *  #  *  *  #  # 

"  But  let  us  see  how  well  this  quadrates  with  your  next  charge. 
This  is,  that  Mr.  Madison,  in  conjunction  with  Mr.  Jay  and  Mr. 
Hamilton,  wrote  the  work  called  The  Federalist,  in  which  the  most 
objectionable  doctrines  of  the  latter  are  maintained.  Now  the  ob 
jection  to  the  doctrines  of  the  latter  gentleman  was,  that  they  were 
too  tnc?'getic.  In  one  breath,  then,  Mr.  Madison  wants  energy  —  in 
the  next,  he  has  too  much  of  it. — This  is  the  unity  and  consistency 
of  truth. — But,  why,  again,  are  you  so  vague  and  so  general  in  this 
charge  about  the  Federalist  ? — Our  jurists  tell  us  '  dolus  latet  in  gene- 
r ali bus — deception  lurks  in  general  expressions ;  and  the  truth  of  the 
maxim  was  never  more  strikingly  exemplied  than  in  your  treatment 
of  Mr.  Madison.  You  mount  some  eminence,  and,  with  a  trumpet  to 
your  mouth,  you  bawl  out,  '  Yazoo/  'want  of  energy/  'the  Federal 
ist — Jay  and  Hamilton/  It  does  not  suit  you  to  descend  to  particu 
lars,  because  you  know  that  the  charges  require  but  to  be  seriously 
examined;  and  they  are  at  once  falsified  and  exposed.  You  know  the 


CHAP.  XVI.]  MR.  MADISON.  225 

odium  attached  to  the  words  which  you  utter,  and  regarding  your 
countrymen  as  a  pack  from  the  kennel,  you  seem  to  think  that  you 
have  nothing  to  do,  but  to  point  out  the  game,  and  set  us  on.  But 
we  are  not  quite  such  beasts  as  you  are  pleased,  most  respectfully,  to 
consider  us.  Instead  of  being  ready  to  worry  a  patriot  whose  virtues 
offend  you,  we  will  protect  and  cherish  him  against  your  injustice  and 
most  undeserving  persecution.  The  Federalist  ?  We  know  that  it  is 
a  defence  of  the  Constitution  which  we  are  all  sworn  to  support :  and 
where  is  the  crime  of  Mr.  Madison's  having  participated  in  that  de 
fence  ?  Is  it  criminal  in  Mr.  Madison  to  have  defended  the  Consti 
tution  by  written  argument,  and  yet  not  criminal  in  you  and  in  us  to 
have  sworn  to  support  it  ?  This  is  another  evolution  of  the  strength 
and  clearness  of  your  discernment !  Since  you  will  not  descend  to 
particularize  the  passages  in  the  Federalist  which  Mr.  Madison  wrote 
and  which  give  you  offence,  permit  us  to  extract  one  which  is  calcu 
lated  to  give  you  consolation  in  the  prospect  before  you,  since  it 
promises  the  continuance  of  your  honourable  existence  as  a  body ; — 
(  Liberty  is  to  faction,  what  air  is  to  fire ',  an  aliment,  without  which 
it  instantly  expires.  But  it  could  not  be  a  less  folly  to  abolish  liberty, 
which  is  essential  to  political  life,  because  it  nourishes  faction,  than 
it  would  be  to  wish  the  annihilation  of  air  which  is  essential  to  animal 
life,  because  it  imparts  to  fire  its  destructive  agency.'  This  is  a  gene 
ral  answer  to  a  general  charge.  When  you  give  that  charge  a  definite 
form,  it  shall  receive  a  definite  answer." 

The  letters  conclude  with  a  retaliatory  assault  upon  the  protestors : 

"  There  is  obviously  an  eifort  to  keep  back  a  part  of  your  wishes. 
Speak  out,  gentlemen;  after  the  lengths  which  you  have  gone,  it  is 
the  height  of  folly  to  be  squeamish.  Or,  if  you  will  not  speak  out, 
we  will  do  it  for  you.  This  is  your  wish.  You  wish  some  man  to  be 
appointed  the  next  President,  who,  you  believe,  looks  upon  the  present 
administration  with  the  same  hostility  which  you  do;  in  other  words, 
you  are  displeased  with  the  character  of  the  present  administration, 
and  you  wish  a  different  character  to  be  introduced.  This  is  the 
whole  of  the  secret  with  which  you  have  been  labouring  and  floun 
dering  throughout  this  most  unfortunate,  self-murdering  Protest. 
But  you  perceive  that  the  people  of  the  United  States  are  of  a  dif 
ferent  opinion.  They  approve  the  character  of  the  present  adminis 
tration  ;  they  wish  that  character  continued ;  they  know  that  it  will 
be  continued  by  the  election  of  Mr.  Madison.  These  are  truths 
which  stare  you  in  the  face,  and  fill  you  with  the  pangs  and  agonies 
of  despair.  The  prospect  of  being  again  in  a  little  and  wretched 
minority,  during  the  next  administration,  is  more  than  your  proud 
and  lofty  spirits  can  support. — Learn,  then,  to  avoid  it.  Learn  to 
have  no  interests  but  those  of  the  people.  Forget  the  wicked  dreams 

p 


226  ONE  OF  THE  PEOPLE.  [1808. 

of  ambition  which  have  disturbed  your  brains.     Return  to  virtue  and 
to  the  people ;  and  the  people  will  forgive  you." 

These  letters  attracted  a  great  deal  of  observation.  Replies  were 
published,  and  a  war  of  considerable  virulence  was  waged  between 
the  author  and  his  opponents.  Some  references  to  this  will  be  seen 
in  his  correspondence  of  this  year. 

We  are  struck,  in  the  perusal  of  these  papers  of  "  One  of  the  Peo 
ple/  '  with  the  acrimony  of  the  discussion.  They, show  us  that  the 
political  asperities  of  our  own  day  are  inherited  from  another  genera 
tion,  and  belong,  we  may  infer,  to  the  nature  of  our  government,  and 
in  some  degree,  perhaps,  to  the  character  of  our  race.  Few  men 
were  more  tolerant  of  opinion  than  Wirt,  few  less  likely  to  be  excited 
by  political  stimulants  into  the  exhibition  of  acerbity  of  temper : — but 
we  may  remark  also  that  no  man  was  ever  more  prompt  or  zealous  to 
defend  a  friend  from  the  assaults  of  an  enemy  than  he.  In  the  per 
formance  of  this  office  for  Mr.  Madison,  he  may  have  indulged  a 
sharper  tone  of  rebuke  and  a  larger  license  of  invective  than  his  own 
judgment,  in  a  moment  of  more  repose,  might  approve.  His  letters 
to  his  friends,  contemporary  with  these  political  effusions,  seem  to 
imply  this.  The  authors  of  the  Protest  were  gentlemen  of  high 
standing  in  the  country,  many  of  them  distinguished,  then  and  after 
wards,  for  their  devotion  to  the  public  welfare  and  effective  usefulness 
in  the  national  councils ;  and,  in  after  life,  personally  esteemed  by 
Mr.  Wirt,  as  friends  worthy  of  all  regard.  They  had,  however,  com 
menced  the  war,  and  could  hardly  expect  less  quarter  than  they 
received  in  the  conflict ; — though,  we  may  suppose,  little  expecting  to 
encounter  the  champion  which  Richmond  supplied  in  "  One  of  the 
People." 

Whilst  these  letters  were  in  progress  of  publication,  Wirt  found 
himself  most  unexpectedly,  and  without  any  agency  on  his  own  part, 
proposed  to  the  city  of  Richmond  as  a  candidate  to  represent  that  con 
stituency  in  the  House  of  Delegates.  His  opponent  was  Colonel  Car- 
rington,  one  of  the  most  worthy  and  influential  gentlemen  in  that 
community.  Quite  as  unexpectedly,  he  was  elected. 

Writing  to  Mrs.  Wirt  from  Williamsburg,  on  the  llth  of  April, 
1808,  some  days  before  the  election  in  Richmond  was  to  be  held;  ho 
pays — 


CHAP.  XVI.]         ELECTED  TO  THE  LEGISLATURE.  227 

"  There  is  an  election  here  to-day,  which  reminds  me  of  that  in 
Richmond.  The  total  indifference  with  which  I  contemplate  the 
Richmond  election,  convinces  me  that  political  ambition  is  not  one  of 
my  sins.  In  many  points  of  view,  it  would  be  permanently  and  infi 
nitely  to  my  advantage  to  be  left  out.  I  beg  you,  therefore,  not  to 
heave  one  sigh  at  Col.  C/s  election,  nor  think  that  your  husband  is 
the  less  respected  by  the  wise  and  the  good,  because  he  is  not  pre 
ferred  by  the  freeholders  of  Richmond  to  Colonel  C.  It  is  no  disparage 
ment  to  any  young  man,  that  a  patriot  so  old,  so  long  tried,  so  virtu 
ous  and  so  worthy  in  every  point  of  view  as  Colonel  C.,  is  preferred 
to  him.  I  regret  extremely  that,  by  being  unintentionally  and  unex 
pectedly  drawn  into  collision  with  him,  I  have  been  made  to  have  the 
appearance  of  implying  a  doubt  of  his  fitness,  or  of  entertaining  a  vain 
opinion  of  my  own ;  both  which  opinions  I  most  sincerely  disclaim. 
But  you  know  how  I  was  brought  into  this  scrape,  which,  I  promise 
you,  is  the  last  one  of  the  kind." 

The  history  of  political  contest  in  the  United  States  does  not  often 
present  specimens  of  reserve  and  modest  personal  estimate  resembling 
this.  We  record  such  manifestations  of  opinion  as  is  here  implied, 
both  in  regard  to  what  is  due  to  the  public  service,  and  to  the  humili- 
lity  of  self-judgment,  with  a  peculiar  pleasure,  for  the  instruction  of 
the  present  generation,  when  almost  every  man  seems  to  believe  him 
self  gifted  with  all  the  attributes  of  wisdom,  talents  and  learning 
necessary  to  the  discharge  of  any  public  function  whatever.  At  this 
day,  when  the  most  profound  problems  of  political  economy  and  juris 
prudence,  and  all  the  mysteries  of  wise  legislation,  and  all  the  science 
necessary  for  skilful  diplomacy,  are  supposed  "  to  come  by  nature/ ' 
or  to  derive  their  highest  finish  and  perfection  from  the  severe  disci 
pline  of  the  stump,  and  to  find  in  every  forum  erected  at  a  country 
cross-road  or  porch  of  a  village  tavern,  an  academy  competent  to  fur 
nish  full-blown  and  accomplished  statesmen,  it  may  be  well  to  recur 
to  the  example  of  that  earlier  epoch  of  our  republic,  when  a  man  so 
gifted  as  William  Wirt,  so  laboriously  trained  and  so  successfully 
tried,  could  speak  in  such  terms  of  distrust  as  to  his  fitness  for  a  seat 
in  a  State  Legislature.  Forty  years  ago,  evidently,  the  men  of  Ame 
rica  were  not  so  confident,  in  regard  to  their  own  merit,  as  they  have 
grown  of  late.  The  march  of  intellect,  which  we  now  call  "  Progress," 


228  LETTER  TO  MR.  MONROE.  [1808. 

has  done  wonders  in  the  supply  of  the  finished  material  of  statesman 
ship. 

In  the  presidential  contest  of  this  year,  the  opposition  to  Mr.  Madi 
son  had,  in  part,  looked  to  Mr.  Monroe,  as  a  point  of  concentration. 
He  was  named  as  the  competitor  of  the  caucus  candidate,  and  a 
strong  effort  was  made  to  give  him  the  support  of  the  republican  par 
ty.  Mr.  Wirt,  as  we  have  seen,  enjoyed  the  friendship  of  Mr.  Mon 
roe,  equally  with  that  of  Mr.  Madison.  Indeed,  the  personal  relation 
which  he  held  to  Mr.  Monroe  was  even  more  intimate  and  confidential 
than  that  which  he  held  to  his  competitor.  This  circumstance  led  to 
the  choice  of  Wirt,  as  one  of  a  committee  in  Richmond,  to  promote 
the  success  of  Mr.  Monroe's  election.  When  this  choice  was  com 
municated  to  him,  he  declined  the  appointment,  and  took  occasion  to 
explain  to  Mr.  Monroe  the  grounds  upon  which  he  did  so — his  prefer 
ence,  at  that  juncture,  for  Mr.  Madison.  The  following  letter  has 
reference  to  this  matter,  and  presents,  in  an  advantageous  light,  the 
delicacy  and  frankness  of  the  writer.  It  is  proper  to  remark,  that 
this  letter  was  written  before  the  occasion  had  arisen  for  the  essays 
signed  "  One  of  the  People." 

TO   JAMES    MONROE. 

RICHMOND,  February  8,  1808. 
DEAR  SIR  : 

On  going  into  court  to-day,  I  found  business  enough  cut  out  for  me 
to  keep  me  closely  engaged  both  to-night  and  to-morrow  forenoon.  So 
it  will  not  be  until,  to-morrow  evening  that  I  shall  have  it  in  my  power 
to  see  you  on  the  subject  to  which  you  referred  this  morning. 

Feeling  for  you  the  same  sincere  and  cordial  friendship  that  I  have 
ever  done,  since  I  had  first  the  pleasure  of  knowing  you,  and  conscious 
that  I  was  now  as  worthy  of  your  confidence  as  I  have  ever  been,  it 
did  not  occur  to  me  this  morning  to  state  to  you  a  circumstance  which, 
perhaps,  may  make  it  less  agreeable  to  you  to  communicate  with  me 
on  the  proposed  subject,  and  which  may  diminish  the  weight  of  any 
friendly  opinion  which  I  may  give  on  it.  On  recalling  our  short  in 
terview  of  this  morning,  I  think  that  candour  and  honour  require  me 
to  mention  this  circumstance.  It  is  this.  I  was  called  on  to  act  as 
one  of  the  standing  committee  to  promote  your  electoral  ticket.  I 
declined  it ;  stating  that,  although  personally  more  warmly  attached  . 
to  you  than  to  Mr.  Madison, — for  I  knew  you  much  better, — and  al 
though  I  thought  it  would  make  very  little  difference  to  the  happiness 


CHAP.  XVI.]  LETTER  TO  MR.  MONROE.  229 

of  the  people  of  the  United  States,  which  of  you  was  President,  yet, 
for  political  considerations,  I  preferred  Mr.  Madison.  I  went  further, 
— for  it  was  a  mutual  friend  of  ours  who  spoke  to  me, — I  added  that 
I  much  feared,  if  your  friends  persisted  in  running  you,  after  the 
sense  of  the  State  and  of  the  United  States  should  be,  at  least,  strongly 
indicated,  if  not  demonstrated  by  the  votes  of  the  State  and  congres 
sional  legislatures,  that  it  might  have  a  permanently  ill  effect  on  your 
political  standing.  For,  although  I  myself,  and  the  friends  here  who 
are  in  the  habit  of  intercourse  with  you,  might  know  the  truth,  yet  I 
feared  that  there  was  danger  that  the  people  of  the  United  States 
might  be  led  to  incorporate  and  identify  you  with  the  minority  in 
Congress,  the  opponents  of  the  present  most  popular  administration. 
And  if  they  should  take  such  an  opinion  in  their  heads,  I  feared  that 
you  were  gone  irretrievably.  Indeed,  my  dear  sir,  so  strongly  have  I 
felt  this  apprehension,  that  I  have  been  several  times  on  the  point  of 
going  and  expressing  it  to  you.  Nor  has  any  thing  restrained  me 
from  it  but  that,  having  expressed  a  preference  for  Mr.  Madison,  I 
thought  it  might  be  considered  indelicate,  if  no  worse,  in  me  to  attempt 
to  remove  the  competition. 

I  have  thought  it  proper  thus  to  disclose  to  you  what  has  been  my 
past  course  and  opinions  on  this  subject;  submitting  it  to  your  own 
feelings  entirely,  whether,  after  this,  you  would  choose  to  communicate 
with  me  as  you  intended.  If  this  be  still  your  pleasure,  I  shall  be 
happy  to  wait  on  you ;  and  I  shall  be  prepared  to  give  you  as  sincere 
and  friendly  an  opinion,  as  if  this  presidential  competition  had  never 
occurred ;  for  I  am,  in  deed  and  in  truth, 

Your  friend, 

WM.  WIRT. 

Whilst  we  have  this  letter  before  us,  it  may  be  well  to  show  with 
what  impressions  Mr.  Monroe  received  this  friendly  explanation.  This 
we  are  enabled  to  do  from  a  letter  of  his  to  Mr.  Wirt,  not  written  in 
reply  to  this,  but  some  months  afterwards,  when  the  presidential  con 
test  had  terminated  in  the  election  of  Mr.  Madison.  The  communi 
cation  from  Wirt,  referred  to  in  this  letter,  I  have  not  seen.  Doubt 
less,  the  issue  of  the  late  contest  had  opened  Mr.  Monroe's  mind  to 
the  suspicion  that  his  friends  might  have  misconstrued  his  motives  and 
purposes,  in  submitting  his  name  to  the  competition  in  which  it  was 
used ;  and  we  may  suppose  also  that  they  felt  all  the  difficulties  of  the 
position  in  which  he  was  placed :  that  Wirt  had  intimated  this  to  him, 
in  the  letter  to  which  this  is  a  reply.  This  letter  from  Mr.  Monroe 
expresses,  with  an  honourable  sensibility,  his  perception  of  this 
embarrassment  of  his  friends,  and  leaves  nothing  to  mar  the  esteem 

VOL.  L  — 20 


230  MR.  MONROE'S  REPLY.  [1808. 

and  confidence  which  had  so  long  subsisted  between  himself  and  the 
individual  to  whom  it  is  addressed. 

RICHMOND,  December  20,  1808. 
DEAR  SIR: 

Your  letter  of  this  day  has  equally  surprised  and  hurt  me,  by  inti 
mating  a  suspicion  that  it  was  my  desire,  on  account  of  the  late  presi 
dential  contest,  to  separate  from  such  of  my  old  friends  as  took  part 
against  me.  I  really  thought  that  my  conduct  had,  in  no  instance, 
given  the  slightest  cause  for  such  a  suspicion.  Let  me  ask,  has  it 
done  so  in  regard  to  you  ?  Did  I  not  consult  you  on  some  important 
topics,  after  I  knew  that  you  were  not  in  my  favour  ?  And  have  I 
ever  returned  to  town,  after  an  absence  from  it;  without  calling  en 
you  ?  Have  you  ever  returned  those  calls  ? 

These  circumstances  produced  no  effect  on  my  rnind  of  alienation. 
I  considered  the  existing  state  as  being  equally  painful  to  them  and 
me,  and  I  waited  for  its  transit  to  show  what  my  real  feeling  and  dis 
position  were  to  those  of  my  old  friends  alluded  to.  You  will  be  sen 
sible  that  while  that  contest  depended,  the  delicacy  of  my  situation 
imposed  on  me  the  necessity  of  much  retirement,  and  that,  by  observ 
ing  it,  I  respected  the*  personal  honour  and  independence  of  my  friends, 
as  well  as  my  own. 

It  is  a  fact,  that  at  the  moment  I  received  your  letter,  I  was  en 
gaged  in  writing  notes  to  yourself  and  other  friends  to  dine  with  me 
on  Thursday.  This  will  show  that  I  shall  accept  your  invitation  with 
pleasure  for  that  day,  postponing  my  invitation  to  the  next.  I  need 
not  add  that  I  shall  at  all  times  be  happy  to  see  arid  confer  with  you 
on  such  topics  as  you  desire, 

Being  very  sincerely 

Your  friend, 

JAMES  MONROE. 

We  recur  now  to  the  track  of  Mr.  Wirt's  correspondence,  offering 
a  few  letters  which  were  written  during  the  period  of  the  political 
excitements  I  have  described.  In  these  letters  will  be  found  some 
glimpses  of  personal  history  which  may  not  be  unacceptable  to  the 
reader. 

TO    DABNEY   CARR. 

RICHMOND,  May  11,  1808. 
MY  DEAR  FRIEND  : 

-5f  -X-  -X-  -X-  X  -X- 

The  essays  signed  "  One  of  the  People"  were  written  by  me  under 
the  pressure  of  importunity  from  some  of  my  friends  here,  at  a  period 


CHAP.  XVI.]  LETTERS  TO  CARR.  231 

when  I  could  ill  spare  the  time,  and  in  such  haste  that  the  printer's 
boy  was,  half  the  time  I  was  engaged  in  them,  pushing  me  for  the 
copy.  Under  such  circumstances,  you  will  not  be  surprised  that  the 
composition  is  loose  and  coarse,  and  the  style,  in  many  passages, 
marked  with  a  heat  and  asperity  which  the  subject  did  not  require. 

I  wish  I  had  taken  more  time  about  them.  The  cause  was  a  good 
one,  and  the  protestors  might  have  been  castigated  with  a  decorum  at 
which  the  modest  cheek  of  Madison  would  have  felt  no  blush.  But 
it  is  too  late  to  repine ;  I  must  endeavour  to  profit  by  experience,  and 
to  keep  myself  more  cool  and  discreet  hereafter. 

You  have  seen  the  reply  by  "  One  of  the  Protestors."     This  is 

.     His  style  is  certainly  not  that  of  a  gentleman,  and  my  first 

impulse  was  to  have  answered  him  cum  arguments  baculino ;  but  re 
membering  that  I  was  the  aggressor,  and  had,  perhaps,  treated  the 
gentleman  a  little  harshly,  my  next  impulse  was  to  suifer  the  vapid 
stuff  to  die  in  peace,  and  the  party  to  sink  down,  without  interruption, 
into  that  nothingness  to  which  they  are  so  rapidly  tending.  Some  of 
my  friends  here  think  I  ought  to  reply.  Will  not  this  be  giving  an 
importance  to  those  publications  which  they  do  not  deserve  ?  Will  it 
not  be  impoliticly  protracting  the  existence  of  the  minority?  Will 
they  not  perish  soon  enough  of  themselves,  if  we  let  them  alone  ? 

When  I  said,  in  the  Enquirer,  that  I  should  be  glad  to  receive  the 
promised  respects  of  "  One  of  the  Protestors,"  I  made  sure  that  John 
llaridolph  was  coming  out.  I  would  have  engaged  with  Achilles,  but 
I  do  not  relish  a  combat  with  one  of  his  myrmidons.  If  I  thought, 
however,  that  the  people, — I  mean  the  judicious  part  of  them, — ex 
pected  it  of  me,  I  would  reply  to  him.  What  do  they  say  with  you? 
What  does  Peter  say  of  it  ?  What  do  you  say  ?  Let  me  have  your 
answer  as  soon  as  possible,  since,  if  I  am  to  reply,  it  ought  to  be  done 
immediately. 

#  x-  *  *  *  % 

Let  me  be  remembered  to  all  our  friends. 

Heaven  bless  you ! 

WM.  WIRT. 


TO    DABNEY   CARR. 

RICHMOND,  May  23,  1808. 


MY  DEAR  CHEVALIER  : 


I  was  not  much  pleased  with  the  style  of  "  One  of  the  People."  I 
am  sorry  for  having  written  it  —  not  for  any  thing  that  the  calf  's-head, 
"  One  of  the  Protestors,"  has  said,  but  because  I  do  not  think  that 
it  is  in  the  style  in  which  Mr.  Madison  should  be  defended,  nor  in 
which  any  man  should  write  who  aspires  at  maintaining  in  society  a 
pure  and  dignified  character.  The  protestors  deserved  to  be  scorched; 


232  LETTER  TO  EDWARDS.  [1808. 

but  I  think  it  might  have  been  done  even  more  effectually,  and  cer 
tainly  more  to  the  honour  both  of  Mr.  Madison  and  the  writer,  by  a 
chaste  and  polite  style.  But  the  die  is  cast;  and  the  question  is,  how 
to  carry  on  the  game. 

This  morning  has  brought  out  the  third  and  last  number  of  "  One 
of  the  Protestors."  A  more  infamous  piece  of  personal  abuse,  of  the 
very  lowest  order,  has  never  been  published.  All  my  friends  here 
concur  in  the  opinion  that  he  does  not  deserve  a  reply.  I  shall,  per 
haps,  give  him  a  short  one ;  but  the  Court  of  Appeals  and  Federal 
Court  being  both  in  session,  and  there  being  several  of  my  clients  in 
town,  pestering  me  with  the  examination  of  Commissioner's  reports,  I 
have  not  a  moment  to  give  to  the  consideration  of  the  protestor. 

Meantime  you  would  be  pleased  to  see  with  what  composure  and 
peace  I  take  this  scurrility.  I  believe  that  it  can  do  me  no  possible 
injury.  If  I  thought  it  could,  I  would  certainly  resort  to  the  stick. 
But  while  my  life  is  constantly  belying  his  charges,  they  will  not  be 
relied  on.  The  reader  who  does  not  know  me  will  inquire  into  their 
truth  of  those  who  do,  and  learning  that  they  are  false,  will  estimate 
the  writer  as  he  deserves,  and  me  as  I  deserve. 

Your  friend, 

WM.  WIRT. 

I  conclude  this  chapter  with  another  letter  to  Mr.  Edwards,  filled, 
as  all  Wirt's  letters  to  this  worthy  gentleman  are,  with  the  affection 
and  gratitude  of  a  son. 


TO   BENJAMIN    EDWARDS. 

RICHMOND,  July  2,  1808. 
MY  DEAR  AND  EVER  HONOURED  FRIEND  AND  FATHER  : 

I  have  read,  half  a  dozen  times,  with  swimming  eyes,  your  precious 
letter  of  the  8th  of  April  last.  Our  courts  have  been  sitting,  without 
intermission,  ever  since  the  1st  of  February  till  the  28th  of  last 
month,  or  I  should  sooner  have  acknowledged  your  goodness  in 
writing  to  me  under  so  much  pain.  Your  friendship  and  affection 
for  me,  are  among  the  purest  and  sweetest  sources  of  happiness  that  I 
have  upon  this  earth.  Judge,  then,  with  what  feelings  I  hear  of 
your  ill  health.  Yet  I  trust  that  the  same  gracious  Providence, 
"who  makes  the  good  his  care,"  and  who  raised  you  once  before 
from  the  bed  of  torture,  will  spare  you  still  to  your  family  and  friends. 
I  have  been  afraid  that  you  do  not  take  exercise  enough,  yet  Mr. 
Street,  the  editor  of  "  The  Western  World,"  handed  me,  the  day  be 
fore  yesterday,  a  letter  from  my  brother  Ninian,  dated  April  llth, 
three  days  after  yours,  in  which  he  says  that  you  had  been,  lately,  at 


CHAP.  XVI.]  LETTER  TO  EDWARDS.  233 

his  house.  That,  I  apprehend,  is  nearly  as  long  a  journey  as  would 
bring  you  to  the  mineral  waters  in  Virginia.  Would  not  this  excur 
sion,  aided  by  the  waters  and  the  animation  of  the  company,  promise 
to  give  a  tone  to  your  system,  and  remove  the  torpor  and  debility  of 
which  you  complain  ? 

I  wish  you  could  believe  it  prudent  and  advisable  for  you  to  take 
such  a  step,  because  I  should  then  have  it  in  my  power  to  see  you 
once  more.  I  would  certainly  meet  you  at  the  Springs,  and  receive 
your  blessing;  and  my  wife  and  children,  from  the  sentiments  they 
have  for  you,  would  accompany  me,  with  all  the  piety  of  pilgrims. 
My  imagination  has  dwelt  upon  this  meeting,  until  I  begin  to  feel  a 
strong  presentiment  that  it  will  certainly  take  place.  My  brother 
Ninian  and  his  family  would,  I  dare  say,  attend  you.  What  a  happy 
group  should  we  form  !  How  would  we  talk  over  the  days  that  are 
past,  till  torpor  and  debility,  and  sickness  and  sorrow  would  fly  and 
leave  us  to  our  enjoy raents.  What  do  you  say  to  this  project?  I 
have  a  sanguine  hope  that  you  will  find  it  as  judicious  in  reference  to 
your  health,  as  I  am  sure  it  would  be  exquisitely  grateful  to  your 
feelings.  And  if  we  meet  once,  and  your  health  should  become 
settled  again,  might  we  not  devise  a  scheme  of  meeting  at  the  same 
place  every  two  or  three  years  ?  By  these  means  our  children  would 
become  acquainted,  and  the  friendship  which  has  subsisted  between 
us  would  be  continued  in  them. 

I  leave  it  to  your  heart  and  your  fancy  to  develope  this  idea, 
through  all  its  consequences.  To  me,  ihe  anticipation,  merely,  is 
delightful ;  and,  in  spite  of  Mr.  Harvie's  doctrine  to  the  contrary,  I 
believe  ihe  reality  would  be  still  more  so.  Will  you  not  think  of 
this  ?  Take  medical  counsel  upon  it,  and  let  me  know  the  result  ? 

Yes ! — there  is  nothing  more  true  than  what  you  say.  "  When 
we  must  die,  there  is  nothing  like  a  well-grounded  hope  of  future 
happiness,  except  a  perfect  faith,  which  removes  all  doubt.' '  I  thank 
God  that  I  have  lived  long  enough,  and  seen  sorrow  enough,  to  be 
convinced  that  religion  is  the  proper  element  of  the  soul,  where  alone 
it  is  at  home  and  at  rest.  That  to  any  other  state,  it  is  an  alien,  va 
grant,  restless,  perturbed  and  miserable, — dazzled  for  an  hour  by  a 
dream  of  temporal  glory,  but  awaking  to  disappointment  and  perma 
nent  anguish.  It  is  the  bed  of  death  which  chases  away  all  these 
illusive  vapours  of  the  brain  which  have  cheated  us  through  life,  and 
which  shows  us  to  ourselves,  naked  as  we  are.  Then,  if  not  sooner, 
every  man  finds  the  truth  of  your  sentiment,  the  importance  of  a 
well-grounded  Christian  hope  of  future  happiness.  We  need  not, 
indeed,  so  awful  a  monitor  as  a  death-bed,  to  convince  us  of  the  in 
stability  of  earlhly  hopes  of  any  kind.  We  have  but  to  look  upon 
nations  abroad,  and  men  at  home,  to  see  that  everything  under  the 
sun  is  uncertain  and  fluctuating ;  that  prosperity  is  a  cheat,  and  virtue 
often  but  a  name.  Look  upon  the  map  of  Europe.  See  what  it  was 
20* 


234  LETTER  TO  EDWARDS.  [1808. 

fifty  or  sixty  years  ago  —  what  it  has  since  been,  and  what  it  is  likely 
to  become.  Formerly  partitioned  into  separate,  independent  and  en 
ergetic  monarchies,  with  vigorous  chiefs  at  their  head,  maintaining 
with  infinite  policy,  the  balance  of  power  among  them,  and  believing 
that  balance  eternal  :  France,  in  the  agonies  of  the  birth  of  liberty, 
her  campus  martins  resounding  with  fetes,  in  celebration  of  that 
event  :  the  contagion  spreading  into  other  nations  :  monarchs  trem 
bling  for  their  crowns,  and  combining  to  resist  the  diffusion  of  the 
example  :  the  champions  of  liberty,  and  Bonaparte  among  the  rest, 
victorious  every  where,  and  every  where  carrying  with  them  the 
wishes  and  prayers  of  America.  Yet  now  see,  all  at  once,  the  revo 
lution  gone,  like  a  flash  of  lightning  \  France  suddenly  buried  beneath 
the  darkness  of  despotism,  and  the  voracious  tyrant  swallowing  up 
kingdom  after  kingdom.  The  combining  monarchs  thought  that  they 
were  in  danger  of  nothing  but  the  propagation  of  the  doctrines  of 
liberty  ;  but  ruin  has  come  upon  them  from  another  quarter.  The 
doctrines  of  liberty  are  at  an  end,  and  so  are  the  monarchies  of  Europe 
—  all  fused  and  melted  down  into  one  great  and  consolidated  despotism. 
How  often  have  I  drunk  that  Caesar's  health,  with  a  kind  of  religious 
devotion  !  How  did  all  America  stand  on  tiptoe,  during  his  brilliant 
campaigns  in  Italy  at  the  head  of  the  army  of  the  republic  !  With 
what  rapture  did  we  follow  his  career  ;  and  how  did  our  bosoms  bound 
at  the  prospect  of  an  emancipated  world  !  Yet  see  in  what  it  has  all 
ended  !  The  total  extinction  of  European  liberty,  and  the  too  proba 
ble  prospect  of  an  enslaved  world.  Alas  !  what  are  human  calculations 
of  happiness  ;  and  who  can  ever  more  rely  upon  them  ! 

If  we  look  to  the  state  of  things  in  our  own  country,  still  we  shall 
be  forced  to  cry,  "all  is  vanity  and  vexation  of  spirit."  Look  at  the 
public  prints  with  which  our  country  is  deluged,  and  see  the  merci 
less  massacre  of  public  and  private  character,  of  social  and  domestic 
peace  and  happiness.  Look  at  the  debates  in  Congress.  Where  is 
the  coolness,  the  decorum,  the  cordial  comparison  of  ideas  for  the 
public  good,  which  you  would  look  for  in  an  assembly  of  patriots  and 
freemen,  such  as  was  seen  in  the  old  Congress  of  1776?  Nothing 
of  it  is  now  to  be  seen.  All  is  rancour,  abuse,  hostility  and  hatred, 
confusion  and  ruin. 

******* 

According  to  my  present  impressions  of  happiness,  I  would  not 
exchange  the  good  opinion  of  one  virtuous  and  judicious  man,  for  the 
acclamation  of  the  millions  that  inhabit  our  country  •  not  that  these 
would  not  be  grateful,  —  but  as  for  taking  them  as  a  basis  of  happi 
ness,  I  would  as  soon  think  of  building  a  house  on  the  billows  of  the 


sea. 


Yours  most  sincerely, 

WM.  WIRT. 


CHAPTER    XVII. 

1809. 


HIS  SERVICE  IN  THE  LEGISLATURE.  —  PREFERENCE  FOR  PRIVATE 
LIFE.  -  LETTERS  TO  EDWARDS.  -  LITERARY  DREAMS.  -  ACRIMONY 
OF  PARTY  POLITICS.  —  EDUCATION.  —  MISGIVINGS  IN  REGARD  TO 
THE  GOVERNMENT. 


service  in  the  Legislature  of  Virginia,  during  the  session 
of  the  winter  of  1808-9,  was  the  beginning  and  end  of  his  connection 
with  public  life  through  the  medium  of  popular  election.  This  as 
sumption  of  the  character  of  a  representative,  may  be  regarded  rather 
as  an  accident  in  his  career  than  the  result  of  any  meditated  plan. 
He  seems  to  have  been  impressed  with  the  conviction  that  popular 
favour  was  too  frail  a  staff  for  a  wise  man  to  lean  upon  for  support, 
however  useful  it  might  sometimes  be  to  enable  him  to  walk  more 
rapidly  upon  his  journey,  or  leap  over  an  occasional  impediment  in 
his  path.  Confiding  in  his  ability  to  move  onward  without  this  help, 
he  preferred  the  success  which  was  to  be  won  by  his  own  labours  in 
a  private  sphere,  to  the  renown  which  he  might  reasonably  have  ex 
pected  from  the  exhibition  of  his  talents  upon  the  stage  of  public 
business.  We  may  not  impute  this  determination  to  a  want  of  civic 
virtue.  We  have  seen  that  no  man  in  the  community  of  which  he 
was  a  member  was  more  prompt  than  he  to  make  a  personal  sacrifice 
to  public  duty  when  it  seemed  to  be  required  ;  nor  was  there  any  who 
felt  a  more  lively  concern  in  the  progress  of  public  events.  We  have 
the  proof  of  this  in  the  readiness  with  which  he  volunteered  his  ser 
vices  in  expectation  of  the  war,  and  in  the  zeal  with  which  he  partici 
pated  in  the  great  question  of  the  presidential  election.  We  may 
infer  from  these  incidents,  that  he  would  not  have  refused  a  summons 
to  the  duties  of  public  station,  if  he  had  believed  that  his  personal 
submission  to  such  a  call  were  enjoined  upon  him  by  any  clear  exi- 

(235) 


236  SERVICE  IN  THE  LEGISLATURE.  [1809. 

gency  which  could  not  have  been  met  by  other  citizens  as  well  adapted 
to  the  service  and  more  anxious  to  undertake  it.  His  modest  estimate 
of  himself,  so  apparent  in  his  letters,  suggested  to  him,  doubtless,  that 
no  such  exigency  could  exist,  and  thus  justified  him  in  the  resolution 
he  had  adopted.  The  theory  of  our  government  clearly  implies  a 
duty  on  the  part  of  every  citizen,  to  render  such  service  to  the  state 
as  may  be  necessary  to  the  conduct  of  its  affairs,  and  which  it  may  be 
in  his  power  to  contribute.  Where  the  people  make  this  demand 
upon  any  one  citizen,  his  refusal  to  comply  with  it  can  only  be  justi 
fied  by  the  fact  that  others  as  capable  may  be  found,  or  that  his  com 
pliance  may  expose  him  to  the  sacrifice  of  important  personal  interests, 
such  as  the  community  have  no  right  to  ask  of  a  citizen  except  in 
some  great  public  emergency.  It  does  not  often  happen  _that  an  oc 
casion  arises  to  test  the  strength  of  this  obligation,  and,  therefore,  it 
is  but  little  familiarized  to  the  reflections  of  the  people, — although 
we  are  not  without  notable  and  illustrious  examples  in  our  history, 
of  the  grave  submission  of  the  wisest  and  most  enlightened  patriots  to 
its  dictation. 

During  the  brief  term  of  Wilt's  service  in  the  Legislature,  we  have 
to  note  his  participation  in  a  proceeding  there  which  attracted  much 
public  attention  in  the  State,  from  its  connection  with  an  exciting 
topic  of  national  concern.  The  interesting  posture  of  our  affairs,  in 
relation  to  the  principal  belligerents  of  Europe,  had  fallen  under  the 
notice  of  the  Legislature  in  some  resolutions  upon  the  subject,  which 
were  referred  to  a  special  committee,  of  which  the  delegate  from 
Richmond  was  one.  A  report  upon  the  resolutions  was  drawn  up 
by  him.  This  report  presented  a  review  of  the  French  decrees  against 
American  commerce,  and  of  the  British  orders  in  Council,  in  both 
of  which  the  country  had  found  so  much  to  vex  and  exasperate  the 
national  pride.  The  theme  was  treated  with  the  spirit  characteristic 
of  the  time,  and  furnished  occasion  for  the  expression  of  strong  and 
indignant  language,  pointed  and  polished  with  all  the  skill  which 
the  author  was  able  to  employ.  In  his  review  of  the  subject,  the 
course  of  Mr.  Jefferson's  administration  was  brought  into  notice,  and 
was  vindicated  with  the  zeal  of  an  advocate  impelled  not  more  by  con 
scientious  approval  of  the  wisdom  of  its  policy,  than  by  warm  personal 
friendship  for  the  leader  by  whom  it  was  directed. 


CHAP.  XVII.]  LETTER  TO  EDWARDS.  237 

With  this  brief  reference  to  the  short  political  episode  in  the  career 
of  the  subject  of  my  memoir,  I  continue  his  letters. 


TO  BENJAMIN   EDWARDS. 

RICHMOND,  February  26,  1809. 


DEAR  SIR: 


And  now  let  me  tell  you  how  grateful  I  feel  for  this,  "  the  longest 
letter  that  you  have  written  since  the  commencement  of  your  disease/' 
It  is  so  perfectly  in  the  style  of  your  conversation  that  I  heard  the 
sound  of  your  voice  in  every  line,  and  saw  every  turn  in  the  well- 
remembered  expression  of  your  face. 

There  are  parts  of  your  letter  which  make  me  smile.     You  wish  me 
to  aspire  to  the  Presidency  of  the  United  States : — this  is  so  much 
like  your  Mount  Pleasant  talk !     Then,  it  was  extravagant  enough, 
although  at  that  time  I  was  but  sixteen  or  seventeen  years  of  age, 
and  had  a  whole  life  before  me  to  work  wonders  in ;  but  now  you 
seem  to  forget  that  I  am  in  my  six-and-thirtieth  year,  by  which  time 
the  colour  of  a  man's  destiny  is  pretty  well  fixed,  and  that  besides 
being  so  old,  I  have  yet  a  fortune  to  make  for  my  family  before  I 
could  turn  my  thoughts  to  politics.     No,  no,  my  dear  friend,  I  make 
no  such  extravagant  calculations  of  future  greatness.     If  I  can  make 
my  family  independent,  and  leave  to  my  children  the  inheritance  of  a 
respectable  name,  my  expectations,  and,  believe  me,  my  wishes,  will 
be  fulfilled.     Eor  the  office  of  Secretary  of  State,  under  Mr.  Madison, 
I  am  just  about  as  fit  as  I  am  to  be  the  Pope  of  Home  : — nor  ought 
I,  nor  would  I,  accept  it,  in  my  present  circumstances.     It  would  be 
to  sacrifice  my  wife  and  children  on  the  altar  of  political  ambition. 
I  have  no  such  ambition,  and  my  not  having  it,  is  one  among  a 
thousand  proofs  that  I  am  unfit  for  that  kind  of  life ;  for  nature,  I 
believe,  never  yet  gave  the  capacity  without  the  inclination.     1  am 
writing  unaffectedly  and  from  my  heart.    I  know  enough  of  the  world 
to  know  that  political  power  is  not  happiness,  and  that  my  happiness 
is  nowhere  but  in  private  life  and  in  the  bosom  of  my  beloved  family. 
I  think  I  may  be  able  to  attain  distinction  enough  in  my  profession 
*  to  have  it  in  my  power,  in  ten  years,  to  retire  from  the  bar  into  the 
country,  and  give  myself  up  to  the  luxury  of  literature  and  my  fire 
side.     You  will  say  that  this  is  selfish — that  a  man's  first  duty  is  to 
his  country ;  and  you  will  tell  me  of  Curtius,  and  Cato,  and  Brutus. 
I  admit  the  grandeur  of  their  virtues,  but  I  am  neither  a  Curtius,  a 
Cato,    nor   a   Brutus.      There    are    thousands    of   my   countrymen 
better  qualified  than  myself  for  those  high  offices,  and  as  willing  as 
capable.     Should  I  attempt  to  give  myself  the  precedence  to  such 
men,  it  would  not  be  love  of  country,  but  self,  that  would  impel  me. 


238  LOCKE'S  ESSAY.  [1809. 

The  wish  to  see  my  country  prosper  is  not  compatible  with  a  wish  to 
see  the  reins  of  government  in  hands  that  are  unlit  to  hold  them ;  and 
to  wish  them  in  my  own,  would  be  to  wish  them  in  such  hands. 
Hence  my  duty  to  my  country  is  so  far  from  opposing  that  it  accords 
with  the  real  wish  of  rny  heart  for  independence  and  domestic  peace. 
These  are  the  principles  by  which  I  am  regulating  my  life,  and  I 
should  be  almost  as  sorry  to  have  them  disturbed,  as  a  Christian 
would  the  foundations  of  his  faith. 

Monroe  is  certainly  a  virtuous  and  excellent  man.  I  opposed  his 
election,  but  my  opinion  of  him  is  unaltered.  By-the-bye,  my  dear 
wife,  who  is  a  good  federalist  by  inheritance,  drew  her  pencil  through 
that  part  of  your  letter  in  which  you  speak  of  the  federalists  and 
lories  who  supported  his  election.  She  wanted  to  show  your  letter 
to  her  mother ,  but  as  both  her  father  and  mother  are  federalists  of 
thejlrst  water,  and  supported  Monroe,  she  was  afraid  that  this  passage 
would  defeat  the  effect  which  she  wished  the  letter  to  produce — that 
is,  to  inspire  them  with  the  same  love  and  respect  for  you  which  she 
feels  herself.  I  think  it  a  misfortune  to  Monroe  that  he  had  the 
support  of  which  you  speak ;  but  as  it  was  unsolicited  and  undesired 
by  him,  I  do  not  think  he  ought  to  be  blamed  for  it.  I  wish  the 
federalists  were  all  like  you — Madisonian  federalists ;  and  I  wish  the 
republicans  were  all  like  him, — that  is,  tolerant,  candid,  charitable 
and  dispassionate.  I  should  then  have  some  hopes  of  the  duration 
of  the  republic ; — but  as  it  is,  may  Heaven  protect  us !  If  you  knew 
Mr.  Jefferson  personally  and  intimately,  you  would  know  him  to  be 
among  the  most  simple  and  artless  characters  upon  earth.  His  fault 
is,  that  he  is  too  unguarded  :  if  he  had  more  of  General  Washington's 
reserve,  he  would  be  less  in  the  power  of  his  enemies  than  he  is.  I 
do  not  know  that  this  would  make  him  a  more  amiable  man,  but  it 
would  make  him  a  happier  one. 

*  •#  *  #  •*  -x- 

I  am  delighted  with  the  account  you  give  me  of  Cyrus'  parts.  Has 
he  read  Locke's  Essay  on  the  Human  Understanding?  If  not,  I 
wish  he  would  try  it :  I  consider  it  a  pretty  good  test  of  a  young  man's 
vigour.  When  I  was  about  fourteen  years  old,  a  friend  made  me  very 
flattering  promises,  if  I  would  read  Locke  through  twice,  and  produce 
a  certificate  from  a  gentleman  whom  he  named,  that  I  was  master  of 
his  meaning.  He  intimated  that  I  should  be  considered  as  a  sort  of 
phenomenon  if  I  achieved  this  task.  It  was  on  Sunday,  I  recollect, 
when  I  received  this  letter;  and  I  went  instantly  to  Parson  Hunt's 
library,  took  out  the  book,  and,  spreading  a  blanket  on  the  floor,  up 
stairs,. laid  down  flat  on  my  breast, — the  posture  in  which  I  had  been 
accustomed  to  get  my  Homer's  lesson,  and  which  I  therefore  supposed 
was  peculiarly  favourable  to  the  exertion  of  the  mind.  I  was  soon 
heels  over  head  among  "  innate  ideas,"  subjects  which  I  had  never 
before  heard  of,  and  on  which  I  had  not  a  single  idea  of  any  kind, 


CHAP.  XVII.]  LOCKE'S  ESSAY.  239 

either  innate  or  acquired.  I  stuck  to  him,  however,  manfully,  and 
plunged  on,  pretty  intelligently,  till  I  got  to  his  chapter  on  "  Identity 
and  Diversity/'  and  there  I  stuck  fast,  in  the  most  hopeless  despair ; 
nor  did  I  ever  get  out  of  that  mire,  until  I  again  met  with  the  book 
in  Albemarle,  when  I  was  about  twenty-three  years  of  age.  Even 
then,  as  I  approached  the  chapter  on  Identity  and  Diversity,  I  felt  as 
shy  as  the  Scotch  parson's  horse  did,  when  repassing,  in  summer,  part 
of  a  road  in  which  he  had  stuck  fast  the  preceding  winter.  Cyrus  is 
two  years  beyond  the  time  at  which  I  made  the  experiment,  and  I  do 
not  doubt  that  he  will  bound  over  it  like  the  reindeer  over  the  snows 
of  Lapland.  Locke  is  certainly  a  frigid  writer  to  a  young  man  of  high 
fancy.  But  whoever  wishes  to  train  himself  to  address  the  human 
judgment  successfully,  ought  to  make  Locke  his  bosom  friend  and 
constant  companion.  He  introduces  his  reader  to  a  most  intimate  ac 
quaintance  with  the  structure  and  constitution  of  the  mind;  unfolds 
every  property  which  belongs  to  it;  shows  how  alone  the  judgment 
can  be  approached  and  acted  on;  through  what  avenues,  and  with 
what  degrees  of  proof,  a  man  may  calculate  with  certainty  on  its  dif 
ferent  degrees  of  assent.  Besides  this,  Locke's  book  is  auxiliary  to 
the  same  process  for  which  I  have  been  so  earnestly  recommending 
the  mathematics ;  that  is,  giving  to  the  mind  a  fixed  and  rooted  habit 
of  clear,  close,  cogent  and  irresistible  reasoning))  The  man  who  can 
read  Locke  for  an  hour  or  two,  and  then  lay  him  down  and  argue 
feebly  upon  any  subject,  may  hang  up  his  fiddle  for  life :  to  such  a 
one,  nature  must  have  denied  the  original  stamina  of  a  great  mind. 

##***# 
That  Heaven  may  restore  and  confirm  your  health,  and  continue  to 
smile  with  beneficence  upon  yourself  and  your  family,  (who,  I  believe, 
are  as  dear  to  my  heart  as  the  closest  consanguinity  could  make  them,) 
is  the  devout  and  fervent  prayer  of 

Your  friend, 

WM.  WIRT. 

The  next  letter  contains  a  pleasant  day-dream,  characteristic  of  the 
ambition  of  the  writer,  but  which,  unfortunately,  was  never  realized. 
We  may  smile  at  this  picture  of  hopes,  which  the  contingencies  of 
after  life  may  be  said  rather  to  have  displaced  for  others  more  brilliant, 
xhan  to  have  disappointed. 

TO    BENJAMIN    EDWARDS. 

RICHMOND,  June  23,  1809. 

MY  EVER -HONOURED  FRIEND  : 

Yours  of  the  15th  ult.  reached  this  place  a  week  ago.  I  was  then 
in  Norfolk,  in  the  Admiralty  Court,  and  learned,  with  sorrow,  by  a 
letter  from  my  wife,  your  inability  to  meet  us  at  the  Springs.  la 


240  LITERARY  DREAMS.  [1809. 

consequence  of  this,  our  own  resolution  of  going  thither  is  very  much 
shaken ;  and  I  doubt  much  whether  we  shall  go  higher  up  the  coun 
try  than  to  my  wife's  sister's,  Mrs.  Cabell,  who  lives  in  Buckingham, 
a  county  bounded  to  the  west  by  the  Blue  Ridge.  There  we  shall 
get  the  mountain  air,  avoid  a  hot  journey  and  a  good  deal  of  expense, 
which  we  would  have  encountered  cheerfully,  in  the  hope  of  meeting 
you  and  some  portion  of  your  family.  This  inducement  removed,  the 
objections  to  the  jaunt  remain  without  a  counterpoise ;  and  we  must 
submit  with  as  good  a  grace  as  possible  to  the  disappointment,  still 
cherishing  the  hope  that,  by  some  means  or  other,  at  some  place  or 
other,  we  shall  yet  meet  before  we  bid  adieu  to  the  world.  In  the 
meantime,  lest  it  should  be  otherwise,  from  your  parental  anxiety  for 
me,  I  am  sure  you  would  be  glad  to  know  what  is  to  become  of  me, 
and  how  I  am  to  pass  through  life.  I  have  looked  into  this  subject 
of  my  future  life  with  a  vision  as  steady  and  distinct  as  I  can  com 
mand,  and  now  give  you  the  result.  In  the  course  of  ten  years,  with 
out  some  great  and  signal  misfortune,  I  have  reason  to  hope  that  I 
shall  be  worth  near  upon  or  quite  one  hundred  thousand  dollars  in 
cash,  besides  having  an  elegant  and  well-furnished  establishment  in 
this  town.  I  propose  to  vest  twenty-five  thousand  dollars  in  the  pur 
chase,  improvement  and  stocking  of  a  farm  somewhere  on  James  River, 
in  as  healthy  a  country  as  I  can  find,  having  also  the  advantage  of 
fertility.  There  I  will  have  my  books,  and  with  my  family  spend 
three  seasons  of  the  year — spring,  'summer  and  fall.  Those  months 
I  shall  devote  to  the  improvement  of  my  children,  the  amusement  of 
my  wife,  and  perhaps  the  endeavour  to  raise  by  my  pen  a  monument 
to  my  name.  The  winter  we  will  spend  in  Richmond,  if  Richmond 
shall  present  superior  attractions  to  the  country.  The  remainder  of 
my  cash  I  will  invest  in  some  stable  and  productive  fund,  to  raise 
portions  for  my  children.  In  these  few  words,  you  have  the  scheme 
of  my  future  life.  You  see  there  is  no  noisy  ambition  in  it ;  there  is 
none,  I  believe,  in  my  composition.  It  is  true  I  love  distinction,  but 
I  can  only  enjoy  it  in  tranquillity  and  innocence.  My  soul  sickens 
at  the  idea  of  political  intrigue  and  faction :  I  would  not  choose  to  be 
the  innocent  victim  of  it,  much  less  the  criminal  agent.  Observe,  I 
do  not  propose  to  be  useless  to  society.  My  ambition  will  lie  in  open 
ing,  raising,  refining  and  improving  the  understandings  of  my  country 
men  by  means  of  light  and  cheap  publications.  I  do  not  think  that  I 
am  Atlas  enough  to  sustain  a  ponderous  work  :  while  a  speculation  of 
fifty  or  a  hundred  pages  on  any  subject,  theological,  philosophical, 
political,  moral  or  literary,  would  afford  me  very  great  delight,  and  be 
executed,  at  least,  with  spirit.  Thus  I  hope  to  be  employed,  if  alive, 
ten  years  hence,  and  so  to  the  day  of  my  death,  or  as  long  as  I  can 
write  any  thing  worth  the  reading.  Voltaire  (voluminous  as  his  works 
now  are,  as  bound  up  together)  used  to  publish,  in  this  way,  detached 
pamphlets  •  and  so  did  many  others  of  the  most  distinguished  writers 


Ciur.  XVII.]  PROSPECT  OF  LIFE.  241 

in  Europe, — all  the  essayists  and  dramatists,  of  course,  and  many  of 
the  philosophers.  This  mode  of  publication  is  calculated  to  give  wider 
currency  to  a  work.  There  is  nothing  terrible  in  the  price,  or  the 
massive  bulk  of  the  volume.  The  price  is  so  cheap,  and  the  reading 
so  light,  as  to  command  a  reader  in  every  one  who  can  read  at  all,  and 
thereby  to  embrace  the  whole  country.  May  not  a  man,  employed  in 
this  way,  be  as  useful  to  his  country  as  by  haranguing  eloquently  in 
the  Senate  ?  The  harangue  and  the  harangue-maker  produce  a  tran 
sient  benefit,  and  then  perish  together.  The  writer,  if  he  have  merit, 
speaks  to  all  countries  and  all  ages  j  and  the  benefits  which  he  pro 
duces  flow  on  forever.  To  enjoy  them  both  would  be,  indeed,  desira 
ble  to  a  man  who  could  feel  sufficient  delight  in  the  applause  of  his 
eloquence  to  counterbalance  the  pain  which  the  cabals,  intrigues,  ca 
lumnies  and  lies  of  the  envious  and  malignant  would  be  sure  to  inflict 
upon  him.  This  I  think  I  could  never  do ;  and  I  shall,  therefore, 
attempt  that  kind  of  fame  which  alone  I  can  find  reconcilable  with 
my  happiness. 

By  perusing  these  two  pages,  you  may  look  forward  through  futu 
rity  to  the  end  of  my  life,  and,  from  the  point  on  which  you  now 
stand,  take  in  my  whole  prospect.  One  thing,  at  least,  your  adopted 
son  promises  you ;  that  he  will  transmit  to  his  posterity  a  name  of 
unblemished  honour  :  and  he  flatters  himself  that  in  future  time,  they 
will  look  back  to  him  as  the  founder  of  a  race  that  will  have  done  no 
discredit  to  their  country.  This  is  vanity,  but,  I  hope,  not  vexation 
to  your  spirit : — for  with  whom  can  I  be  free,  if  not  with  you  ?  I 
flatter  myself  that  you  have  that  kind  of  love  for  me,  which  would 
make  you  desirous  of  seeing  how  I  shall  conduct  myself  through  life  ; 
but  since,  in  the  ordinary  course  of  things,  this  cannot  be,  the  next 
degree  of  enjoyment  is  to  see  it  by  anticipation,  and  for  this  purpose 
it  is,  that  I  have  been  trying  to  lead  you  to  the  summit  of  Pisgah,  and 
show  you  my  promised  land. 

But  enough  of  it.  Your  letter  gives  a  view  of  the  advanced  life 
of  parents,  not  the  most  cheering  that  could  be  imagined.  But  then, 
those  children  whom  you  went  to  Kentucky  to  live  with,  although 
widely  dispersed,  are  all  in  the  road  of  honour,  prosperity  and  happi 
ness.  They  could  not  have  remained  with  you  always  :  you  should 
not  have  desired  it.  They  were  to  be  established  in  the  world ;  and 
you  have  the  delightful  knowledge  that  they  are  well-established. 
What  a  feast  is  this  reflection  to  a  heart  like  yours !  Contrast  it  with 
the  idea  of  their  always  having  remained  about  your  house,  your 
daughters  old  maids,  and  your  sons  lazy  old  bachelors.  You  would 
have  had  their  company,  indeed, — but  what  sort  of  company  would 
it  have  been  ?  And  if  you  once  admitted  the  idea  that  they  were  to 
be  married  or  settled,  I  am  sure  you  were  not  chimerical  enough  to 
expect  that  they  would  all  settle  around  Shiloh,  like  so  many  small  bub 
bles  surrounding  a  large  one.  I  doubt  very  much  the  happiness  of  a 

VOL.  L  — 21  Q 


242  FAMILY  CONCERNS.  [1809. 

neighbourhood  so  constructed,  even  if  it  were  reasonable  to  expect 
such  a  construction.  I  incline  to  think  that  distance  gives  you  a  juster 
value  for  each  other,  and  that  when  you  do  meet,  your  happiness 
makes  up  in  intenseness  what  it  wants  in  frequency ;  so  that  upon  the 
whole,  the  sum  of  your  happiness  is  pretty  much  the  same. 

But,  my  ever  honoured  friend,  any  man  with  your  practical  judg 
ment  must  have  foreseen  this  result — that  your  children  would  marry, 
and  that  their  own  parental  duties  would  force  them  to  follow  their 
fortune  wherever  she  pointed  the  way.  And  how  happy  is  your  fate 
compared  with  that  of  hundreds,  thousands  and  millions  of  other 
parents.  No  child  has  ever  wounded  the  honour  of  your  house.  You 
have  no  reprobate  son  to  mourn :  no  daughter's  ruin  to  bring  down 
your  gray  hairs  with  sorrow  to  the  grave.  How  many  are  there  who 
have !  When  I  think  of  these  agonizing,  soul-rending  calamities,  I 
almost  shudder  at  the  idea  of  being  a  father.  "  Yet  in  Providence  I 
trust." 

I  had  heard  of  Ninian's  wish  for  the  governorship  of  the  Illinois, 
from  himself,  and  had  written  to  Mr.  Madison  (whom  I  know  very 
well,)  my  impressions  of  his  (Ninian's)  character.  I  know  not  whe 
ther  the  change  of  office  is  for  better  or  worse ;  and  am  sorry  to  learn 
that  you  think  it  against  reason  and  judgment.  The  office,  I  presume, 
will  impose  more  labour  upon  him,  and  be  more  likely  to  embroil  him 
in  quarrels  and  trouble.  But  will  not  these  be  balanced  by  the  power 
which  he  will  have  of  providing  for  his  children,  and  ushering  them 
advantageously  into  life  ? 

I  am  happy  to  hear  that  Cyrus  has  laid  siege  to  the  mathematics. 
He  will,  no  doubt,  soon  be  tired  of  it,  and  when  he  is  so,  he  ought  to 
turn  to  Rollin's  account  of  his  namesake's  siege  of  Babylon,  to  see 
what  patience,  enterprise  and  heroism  can  achieve;  and,  though  he 
may  not  see  at  present  the  benefit  which  is  to  result  from  his  labours, 
he  will  feel  it  by-and-bye,  when  the  arguments  of  his  adversaries  fall 
before  him  like  the  walls  of  Jericho  at  the  sound  of  the  horns. 

By-the-bye,  my  wife  is  afraid  that  you  took  too  gravely  her  little 
gayety  in  pencilling  some  of  the  lines  of  your  letter  touching  the 
federalists.  I  told  her  that,  to  my  sorrow,  you  were  a  federalist  too ; 
and  that  your  observation  could  scarcely  have  been  intended  to  cover 
the  whole  of  a  party  to  which  you  yourself  belonged.  The  act  was, 
as  it  related  to  herself,  a  mere  sally  of  sportiveness ;  and  in  this  light 
she  begs  you  to  consider  it.  I  have  some  hopes  that,  in  time,  I  shall 
have  better  luck  with  her  than  Paul  had  with  Felix ;  that  I  shall  al 
together  persuade  her  to  be  a  good  republican.  This  will  be  the  effect, 
however,  of  living  long  together,  and  wearing  down,  by  slow  degrees, 
the  little  federal  asperities  which  her  parents  gave  her ;  that  is  to  say, 
if  my  own  political  asperities,  as  being  made  of  softer  stuff,  do  not 
give  way  first.  You  know  that  in  rencontres  of  this  sort,  men  have 
not  much  to  expect  beyond  the  pleasure  of  being  vanquished. 


CHAP.  XVII.]  LETTER  TO  CARR.  243 

******* 

Here  is  another  long  and  vapid  letter.  No  wonder  this  time,  for  I 
have  written  under  the  pressure  of  about  ninety-six  degrees  of  heat. 
My  wife  and  children  unite  with  me  in  love  to  you,  Mrs.  E.  and  our 
brothers  and  sisters.  Heaven  bless  you,  restore  you  to  health,  and 
preserve  you  to  your  family. 

Yours, 

WM,  WIRT. 

TO   DABNEY   CARR. 

RICHMOND,  December  21,  1808. 
MY  DEAR  FRIEND: 

I  have  this  moment  your  favour  of  the  18th  inst.,  for  which  I  thank 
you  from  the  bottom  of  my  heart.  I  love  your  letters.  They  are 
your  very  self.  God  bless  you.  You  give  me  great  pleasure. 

Yes  !  —  your  brother  Peter,  the  G  eneral  and  myself,  had  indeed 
planned  a  trip  to  Washington,  this  winter,  which  was  to  embrace  you, 

and  into  which  "my  brother  the  Governor"  Cabell,  (as  old  S 

used  to  say  of  Patrick  Henry,)  entered  with  all  his  soul,  as  soon  as 
mentioned ;  but  you  know  we  have  Burns'  authority  for  saying  that 
"  the  wisest  schemes  of  mice  and  men  gang  aft  awry/' 

We  were  at  the  Springs,  and  looked  at  the  subject  at  a  very  great 
distance,  —  too  great  a  distance  to  discern  the  obstacles  that  might 
oppose  our  design.  Now  that  we  have  come  to  the  starting  point,  I 
find  that  the  trip  would  break  in,  materially,  on  my  professional  en 
gagements  for  the  winter,  and  disable  me  from  taking  the  field,  in  the 
spring,  with  the  advantage  I  ought.  This  is  no  fictitious  obstacle. 
Our  courts  are,  at  length,  all  up,  and  I  have  set  in  to  do  what,  to  my 
shame,  I  have  never  done  before, — prepare,  through  the  winter,  for 
the  combats  of  the  succeeding  year,  leaving  nothing  for  future  pre 
paration,  but  future  business.  Thus,  our  first  court  is  the  Chancery : 
I  lay  my  docket  before  me,  take  up  my  first  cause,  and  prepare  the 
notes  of  my  argument  in  that,  before  I  quit  it;  so,  to  the  next,  and- 
so  on  through  that  docket,  and  every  other  in  which  I  am  concerned. 
Thus  I  come  out,  in  the  spring,  as  Billy  Pope  says,  like  a  sarpent. 
Is  not  this  an  object  sufficiently  important  to  justify  the  declension 
of  the  jaunt  to  Washington  ?  Yet  how  I  should  enjoy  it !  I  have 
no  doubt  of  the  truth  of  your  opinion,  that  these  men  loom  larger 
from  their  distance.  We  know  those  who  cope  with  them,  and  who 
at  least  equal,  if  not  surpass  them ;  and  even  these  are  but  men. 

No,  my  dear  friend ;  I  know  you  are  too  manly  and  dignified  to 
flatter  any  one,  much  less  a  friend ;  and  I  know  few  men,  very  few 
indeed,  (if  one,)  whose  judgments  are  so  little  liable  to  be  warped 
from  the  truth,  by  prejudice  and  partiality.  Yet,  when  you  speak 
of  its  being  of  any  peculiar  importance  to  me  to  become  known  to 


244  THE  OLD  REPORTERS.  [1809. 

the  great  men  of  the  nation,  I  am  lost  in  the  attempt  to  conjecture 
your  meaning. 

The  course  of  politics  is  neither  for  my  happiness  nor  fortune.  I 
am  poor.  While  I  continue  so,  it  is  my  first  duty  to  think  of  my 
wife  and  children,  unless  my  country  were  placed  in  an  emergency, 
from  which  I,  alone,  could  redeem  her :  a  crisis,  the  possibility  of 
which,  it  is  not  very  easy  to  conceive. 

My  wife  says  that  she  should  feel  my  safety  no  where  more  secure 
than  in  your  hands ;  for,  let  me  tell  you  (aside)  that  you  are  a  rare, 
a  very  rare  instance,  in  which  there  is  a  perfect  coincidence  in  opinion, 
between  her  and  myself,  as  to  the  taste  and  friendship  of  my  asso 
ciates.  I  have  heard  General  M make  a  complaint  against  his 

wife,  that  his  greatest  favourites  were  seldom  her's.  I  suspect  the 
reason  with  both  our  wives,  is  pretty  much  the  same, — to  wit,  that 
some  of  our  greatest  favourites  are  apt,  occasionally,  to  tempt  us  into 
frolics.  My  wife  has  seen,  that  this  is  not  the  case  with  you ;  for  you 
never  cross  the  line  of  the  temperate  zone,  and  there  is  no  mist  of 
prejudice,  therefore,  between  her  judgment  and  your  good  qualities. 
At  the  good  qualities  of  several  of  my  other  friends,  she  is  obliged  to 
look  through  the  smoke  of  cigars,  and  the  vapours  of  the  grape ;  a 
medium  so  impenetrable  to  her,  that  I  cannot  account  for  her  having 
ever  conceived  a  partiality  for  me,  except  by  the  obscurity  with  which 
I  was  thus  surrounded,  and  the  force  of  her  imagination.  But,  mark 
me,  I  am  speaking  only  of  past  years.  For,  sir,  I  have  made  a  large 
collection  of  old  law  reporters,  with  the  plates  of  the  authors  in  front, 
Coke,  G-rotius,  Rolle,  Vaughan,  &c.  I  see,  from  the  faces  of  these 
men,  who  lived  so  shortly  after  Shakspeare,  (and,  indeed,  of  old  Coke 
and  Dyer  who  lived  with  him,)  that  this  great  poet  was  painting  from 
nature,  in  this,  as  well  as  in  every  other  instance,  when  he  imputed 
to  these  men  of  the  law,  "the  eye  severe,  and  beard  of  formal  cut." 
It  was,  no  doubt,  owing  to  their  recluse  and  austere  life,  and  the  in 
tensity  of  their  studies,  that  they  contracted  this  severe  look.  I  bar 
the  beard ;  but,  in  other  respects,  if  the  same  cause  is  to  produce  the 
same  effect,  look  to  see  me  with  razor  eyes  cast  a  little  to  one  side,  in 
all  the  severity  of  thought,  and  muscles  fixed  as  marble,  when  next 
you  see  me. 

To  be  sure,  I  had  two-and-twenty  gentlemen,  yesterday,  eating 
venison,  and  drinking  wine  with  me.  But  this,  sir,  was  only  a  pa 
renthesis;  and,  I  am  too  well  read  in  Blair,  to  admit  many  of  them, 
because  I  think,  with  him,  that  nothing  is  more  apt  to  darken  a  man's 
understanding,  if  not  to  extinguish  it  altogether. 

I  '11  tell  you  what,  sir,  I  begin  to  feel  like  somebody  in  this  world. 
My  son  is  beginning  to  read,  and  my  daughter  writes  her  name  very 
smartly ;  and  it  gives  me,  I  can  tell  you,  no  small  consequence  in  my 
own  eyes,  to  be  tLe  parent  of  two  such  children,  I  have  a  notion  of 
making  my  daughter  a  classical  scholar.  What  do  you  say  to  it  ? 


CHAP.  XVII.]        ACRIMONY  OF  PARTY  POLITICS.  245 

She  is  quick,  and  has  a  genius.  Her  person  will  not  be  unpleasing, 
and  her  mind  may  be  made  a  beauty.  This  course  of  education  will, 
indeed,  keep  her  out  of  the  world  until  she  is  seventeen  years  old ; 
but,  I  think,  so  much  the  better,  —  for  I  would  not  wish  her  to  be 
married  under  twenty,  which,  if  she  is  attractive,  would  be  very  apt 
to  be  the  case,  if  she  enters  the  world,  as  is  usual,  at  fourteen.  What 
do  you  say  to  all  this  ?  Commune  with  me,  as  a  friend,  upon  this. 

I  should  like  our  girls,  four  or  five  years  hence,  to  be  corresponding 
in  French.  Does  not  your  heart  spring  at  this  idea  ?  If  not,  you 
are  no  father  to  my  mind. 

My  wife  desires  to  be  affectionately  remembered  to  yours.  So  do 
I  too,  and  both  of  us  to  you, — which  is  a  rhyme  unintended. 

Greet  your  brothers  kindly  in  my  name,  and  all  our  friends. 

Need  I  tell  you  what  you  so  well  know,  that 
I  am,  as  ever, 

Your  friend, 

WM.  WIRT. 

These  letters  indicate  a  settled  determination,  at  least  for  the  pre 
sent,  to  avoid  the  engagements  of  public  life.  Wirt,  in  common  with 
many  grave  and  reflecting  men  of  that  time,  often  fell  into  a  despond 
ing  tone  of  remark  upon  the  future  prospects  of  the  country.  The 
absolute  ferocity  of  party  politics  at  that  day,  alarmed  them.  Never 
since  that  period, — although  our  later  experience  upon  this  point  is 
not  without  abundant  examples  of  an  extreme  of  harshness — never 
have  political  divisions  been  attended  with  so  widely  diffused  and  so 
bitter  a  spirit  of  personal  rancour  and  denunciation.  In  the  artful 
exhibitions  of  talented  demagogues,  perhaps,  the  present  generation 
may  be  entitled  to  claim  a  greater  skill  and  a  more  pervading  influ 
ence,  than  that  which  preceded  it ;  but  at  the  time  to  which  we  refer, 
society  was  more  distinctly  marked  and  separated  by  party  lines  than 
it  ever  has  been  since.  Considerate  men  regarded  this  temper  in  the 
people  with  anxiety  and  doubt  as  to  its  ultimate  effect  upon  the  insti 
tutions  of  the  country,  and  they  felt  unhappy  forebodings  of  a  catas 
trophe  which  many  believed  not  to  be  far  distant.  The  public  mind 
has  since  grown  familiar  with  these  tempests,  and,  finding  how  easih 
the  ship  rights  itself  after  a  heavy  blow,  has  dismissed  its  apprehen 
sions  and  learned  to  look  with  confidence  and  composure  upon  the 
supposed  dangers  which  filled  the  hearts  of  the  past  generation  with 
dismay. 

21* 


246  LETTER  TO  EDWARDS.  [1809. 

In  the  following  letter  to  Mr.  Edwards,  we  shall  find  the  utterance 
of  some  gloomy  misgivings  as  to  the  fate  of  the  Union,  which  may  Ibe 
said  to  express  an  opinion  not  confined  to  the  writer.  The  first  por 
tion  of  this  letter  touches  a  question  of  education,  and  may  be  profits 
ably  perused  by  every  youthful  aspirant  after  professional  success. 

TO   BENJAMIN   EDWARDS. 

RICHMOND,  December  22,  1809. 
My  DEAR  FRIEND  : 

******* 

I  think  you  are  rather  hard  upon  my  brother  Ninian,  when  you 
speak  of  the  Quixotic  schemes  which  he  has  carried  to  his  territory. 
It  strikes  me  that  a  fellow  who  has  made  his  way  through  the  presi 
dency  of  a  Court  of  Appeals,  to  the  government  of  a  Territory,  de 
serves  to  have  his  solidity  a  little  better  thought  of.  I  suspect  that 
the  Knight  of  La  Mancha  would  never  have  achieved  such  adventures 
as  those.  I  own  that  I  cannot  see  what  he  will  gain  by  the  exchange, 
except  (what  I  should  suppose  he  has  no  need  of)  land :  but  he  has 
displayed  so  much  soundness  of  judgment  that  I  do  not  doubt  motives 
exist  sufficient  to  justify  his  conduct.  I  am  sorry  that  Cyrus  is  de 
prived  of  McAllister.  I  hear  this  man  every  where  spoken  of  as  a 
prodigy  of  learning  and  mental  force }  not  very  well  qualified  per 
haps  for  the  instruction  of  children,  but  highly  so  for  the  instruction 
of  young  men, — and  Cyrus  is  now  a  young  man.  McAllister,  I  am 
told,  is  distinguished  for  the  clearness  and  cogency  of  his  style  of 
reasoning.  What  a  treasure  would  such  a  man  be  to  a  young  man 
of  genius  and  enterprise  who  was  destined  for  the  bar !  This  power 
of  analysis,  the  power  of  simplifying  a  complex  subject,  and  showing 
all  its  parts  clearly  and  distinctly,  is  the  forte  of  Chief  Justice  Mar 
shall,  and  is  the  great  desideratum  of  every  man  who  aims  at  eminence 
in  the  law.  Genius,  fancy,  and  taste  may  fashion  the  drapery  and 
put  it  on;  but  Reason  alone  is  the  grand  sculptor,  that  can  form  the 
statue  itself.  Hence  it  is  that  I  have  been  so  anxious  for  Cyrus  to 
cultivate  the  mathematics — not  for  the  sake  of  being  a  mathematician, 
but  to  give  to  his  mind  the  habit  of  close  and  conclusive  reasoning. 
I  hope  he  will  still  be  placed  in  sonic  situation  where  he  may  pursue 
this  science.  I  would  have  him  mathematician  enough  to  be  able  to 
comprehend  and  repeat,  with  case,  by  calculations  of  his  own,  Sir 
Isaac  Newton's  mathematical  demonstrations  of  the  principles  of  na 
tural  philosophy.  Locke  says,  if  you  would  have  your  son  a  reasoner, 
let  him  read  Chillingworth  :  I  say,  if  you  would  have  him  a  reasoner 
let  him  read  Locke.  I  think  you  will  find  that  the  mathematics  and 
Locke  will  put  a  head  in  his  tub ;  for,  what  you  censure  is  not,  I  ap 
prehend,  any  defect  in  the  faculty  of  memory,  but  rather  the  inatten- 


CHAP.  XVII.]  GLOOMY  FOREBODINGS.  247 

tion  and  volatility  so  natural  to  his  time  of  life,  for  which  there  is  no 
better  cure  than  what  I  am  recommending. 

-x-  *  #  -sf  *  -x- 

As  to  my  country's  calling  for  my  aid,  you  make  me  smile  ! — yet, 
if  such  an  improbable  thing  should  ever  come  to  pass,  you  will  find 
that  your  lectures  on  patriotism  have  not  been  lost  upon  me.  Alas ! 
poor  country  !  what  is  to  become  of  it  ?  In  the  wisdom  and  virtue 
of  the  administration  I  have  the  most  unbounded  confidence.  My 
apprehensions,  therefore,  have  no  reference  to  them,  nor  to  any  event 
very  near  at  hand.  And  yet,  can  any  man  who  looks  upon  the  state 
of  public  virtue  in  this  country,  and  then  casts  his  eyes  upon  what  is 
doing  in  Europe,  believe  that  this  confederated  republic  is  to  last  for 
ever  ?  Can  he  doubt  that  its  probable  dissolution  is  less  than  a  cen 
tury  oif  ?  Think  of  Burr's  conspiracy,  within  thirty-five  years  of  the 
birth  of  the  republic ; — think  of  the  characters  implicated  with  him ; 
— think  of  the  state  of  political  parties  and  of  the  presses  in  this 
country  ] — think  of  the  execrable  falsehoods,  virulent  abuse,  villanous 
means  by  which  they  strive  to  carry  their  points.  Will  not  the  people 
get  tired  and  heart-sick  of  this  perpetual  commotion  and  agitation,  and 
long  for  a  change,  even  for  king  Log,  so  that  they  may  get  rid  of 
their  demagogues,  the  storks,  that  destroy  their  peace  and  quiet? 
These  are  my  fears.  Heaven  grant  that  they  may  prove  groundless  ! 
It  may  be  for  the  want  of  that  political  intrepidity  which  is  essential 
to  a  statesman  that  these  fears  have  found  their  way  into  my  mind — 
yet  I  confess  they  do  sometimes  fill  it  with  awe  and  dismay.  I  am 
sure  that  the  body  of  the  people  is  virtuous;  and  were  they  as 
enlightened  as  they  are  virtuous,  I  should  think  the  republic  insured 
against  ruin  from  within.  But  they  are  not  enlightened,  and  there 
fore  are  liable  to  imposition  from  the  more  knowing,  crafty  and  vicious 
emissaries  of  faction ; — and  the  very  honesty  of  the  people,  by  ren 
dering  them  unsuspicious  and  credulous,  promotes  the  cheat.  They 
are  told,  for  instance,  that  this  administration  is  in  French  pay,  or 
under  French  influence ;  and  that  this  country,  although  nominally 
free,  is,  in  effect,  a  dependant  and  a  province  of  France.  That  the 
taxes  which  they  pay  to  support  their  government,  instead  of  being 
applied  to  these  purposes,  are  remitted  to  their  master  in  France,  to 
enable  him  to  complete  the  conquest  of  Europe,  and  hasten  the  time 
of  his  taking  open  possession  here.  The  people  who  live  amid  the 
solitude  and  innocence  of  the  country,  who  read  or  hear  this  tale  well 
vamped  up,  and  see  general  items  pointed  out,  in  the  annual  accounts 
of  expenditure,  which  are  declared  to  cover  these  traitorous  remit 
tances — what  are  they  to  think — especially  when  the  tale  is  connected 
with  a  long  train  of  circumstances,  partly  true  and  partly  false,  grow 
ing  out  of  the  actual  embarrassments  of  the  country  ?  Would  it  be 
surprising,  if,  thus  worked  upon  for  four  years,  with  the  vile  and 
infamous  slander  sanctioned  by  assertions  on  the  floor  of  Congress, 


248  INCREASING  EMINENCE.  [1810 

they  should  precipitate  Mr.  Madison  from  the  Presidential  seat,  and 
place  one  of  his  calumniators  in  the  chair  of  state  ?  And  then,  when 
"  vice  prevails  and  wicked  men  bear  sway/'  "what  ills  may  follow/' 
Heaven  only  can  foretell. 

*•  -x-  -5f  -jf  •*  -x- 

Yours,  forever  and  aye, 

WM.  WIRT. 


CHAPTER   XVIII. 

1810. 

RESUMES  THE  PURPOSE  OF  WRITING  THE  BIOGRAPHY  OF  PATRICK 
HENRY. CONSULTS  MR.  JEFFERSON  ON  THIS  SUBJECT. LET 
TERS  TO  CARR. NEW  ENGLAND  ORATORY. THE  SENTINEL. — 

LETTER  TO  B.  EDWARDS. DEATH  OF  COLONEL  GAMBLE. THE 

OLD  BACHELOR. LETTERS  CONCERNING  IT. 

IN  the  lives  of  professional  men,  there  is  generally  but  little  inci 
dent  of  that  kind  which  is  adapted  to  give  interest  to  the  narrative 
of  the  biographer.  The  pursuits  of  a  student,  whether  in  the  field 
of  professional  science  or  of  literature,  present  little  for  notice  beyond 
the  record  of  his  acquirements  and  opinions.  That  engrossment  of 
the  mind,  which  constitutes  the  delight  and  profit  of  a  life  devoted  to 
study,  necessarily  withdraws  the  student  from  an  active  participation 
in  the  affairs  of  his  fellow-men ;  and,  to  the  same  extent,  deprives  his 
career  of  that  various  fortune,  of  which  the  lights  and  shades  com 
municate  so  much  interest  to  personal  history. 

We  have  seen,  in  the  progress  of  Mr.  Yfirt,  a  steadfast  devotion  to 
his  profession,  marked  by  a  regular  and  continued  advancement  to 
eminence, — eminence  which,  it  is  apparent  throughout  his  career,  he 
was  fully  persuaded  was  only  to  be  won  by  unremitting  study.  All 
other  pursuits  were  subordinate  to  the  great  object  of  his  ambition,  a 
well-merited  renown  in  his  profession.  In  his  estimates  of  this 
renown,  and  of  the  means  by  which  it  was  to  be  fairly  earned,  he  was 
guided  by  the  example  of  those  distinguished  men  who,  in  the  history 


CHAP.  XVIII.]  LEGAL  EDUCATION.  249 

of  the  profession,  both  in  ancient  and  modern,  times,  had  illustrated  it 
by  the  highest  accomplishments  of  general  scholarship.  The  bar  of 
the  United  States,  by  no  means  deficient  in  the  highest  order  of 
ability,  affords  but  few  instances  of  that  accurate  and  full  scholastic 
training,  without  which  no  man  can  be  said  to  be  entitled  to  the  repu 
tation  of  an  accomplished  jurist.  Looking  to  the  leading  members 
of  the  profession  amongst  us,  we  have  too  much  cause  to  remark  that, 
with  some  rare  and  brilliant  exceptions,  there  is  a  lamentable  want 
of  conversancy  with  those  subsidiary  studies,  which  not  only  grace 
the  reputation  of  an  eminent  lawyer,  but  are  even  indispensable  to  it. 
"VVe  discern,  in  men  of  the  highest  professional  repute,  a  lack  of  scho 
larship,  a  deficiency  in  philosophical  and  historical  study,  and  a 
neglect  of  literature  and  science,  which  contrast  most  unpleasantly 
with  their  acknowledged  vigour  and  capacity  of  mind.  This  defect 
may  be  sometimes  traced  to  the  want  of  the  means  and  opportunity, 
in  early  life,  for  elemental  study.  Some  distinguished  men  of  the 
American  bar  have  won  their  way  to  fame  against  the  impediments 
of  a  straitened  fortune,  and  in  the  privation  of  all  the  customary  aids 
of  study.  In  respect  to  these,  it  may  be  said  that  their  want  of 
accomplishment  bears  honourable  testimony  to  the  labours  of  their 
progress,  and  rather  signalizes  what  they  have  achieved,  than  subjects 
them  to  reproof  for  what  they  have  left  unattained.  The  great 
majority  of  the  most  prominent  members  of  the  profession,  however, 
have  not  this  excuse.  They  are  men,  for  the  most  part,  of  liberal 
education,  trained  in  the  college,  with  all  the  means  and  appliances  at 
hand  for  the  highest  and  most  various  cultivation.  That  they  have 
not  availed  themselves  of  these  means,  we  may  attribute,  in  a  great 
degree,  to  the  fact  that  the  community  at  large  do  not  appreciate 
these  acquirements  sufficiently  to  allow  them  much  weight  in  the 
formation  of  the  popular  opinion  of  professional  excellence ;  that  the 
student  is  not  stimulated  to  these  additional  labours  by  any  public 
judgment  'of  their  worth,  and  that  he  need  not,  therefore,  burden 
himself,  in  his  preparation  for  his  arduous  race,  with  any  additional 
weight  of  study.  His  dream  is  of  popularity  rather  than  of  that 
fame  which  is  to  live  beyond  his  own  day.  He  covets  the  applause 
visibly  bestowed  in  the  listening  forum,  or  more  substantially  mani 
fested  in  the  golden  return,  rather  than  that  invisible,  remote  and 


250  CHARACTER  OF  HIS  STUDIES.  [1810. 

impartial  renown  which  settles,  late  and  long,  upon  the  works  and  the 
memory  of  the  ripe  and  polished  scholar.  Something  is  due  also  to 
other  causes :  amongst  these,  that  rapid  and  precocious  advance  to 
large  practice  at  the  bar,  of  which  we  have  so  many  examples.  This 
early  success,  bringing  with  it  profit  and  popular  applause,  is  often 
the  source  of  a  double  mischief;  first,  by  satisfying  the  ambition  of 
the  aspirant ;  and,  second,  by  persuading  him  that  nothing  is  to  be 
gained,  in  the  enlargement  of  his  studies,  to  compensate  him  for  the 
time  it  must  subtract  from  his  business.  We  may  find  another  reason 
in  the  extraordinary  predominance  of  that  talent  for  public  speaking, 
which  is  so  remarkably  characteristic  of  our  people.  The  admiration 
of  the  masses  for  this  talent;  the  ready  plaudit  with  which  they 
are  often  but  too  ready  to  reward  that  specious,  fluent,  superficial, 
glittering  eloquence,  with  which  they  are  most  familiar,  seem  to 
have  engendered  the  opinion  that  even  the  depths  of  juridical  science 
may  be  fathomed  by  this  plummet  of  the  gift  of  speech,  and  the 
highest  honours  of  professional  distinction  be  won  by  the  wordy  tri 
umphs  of  the  forum. 

Wirt's  aim  was  to  build  up  his  reputation  upon  a  more  solid  base 
To  this  end,  he  read  and  thought  much,  in  those  departments  of 
study,  which  not  only  liberalize  the  mind  by  broad  and  comprehensive 
views  of  human  knowledge,  but  also  supply  it  with  the  stores  of  illus 
tration,  analogy  and  comparison ;  and,  in  equal  degree,  strengthen  its 
power  of  discrimination  and  logical  deduction.  To  this  end,  also,  he 
habituated  himself  to  the  use  of  his  pen,  and  almost  incorporated  the 
practice  of  writing  into  a  system  of  self-improvement,  as  a  point  of 
daily  discipline. 

In  accordance  with  this  plan  of  study,  he  had  ever  some  literary 
project  in  hand,  to  which  he  gave  a  portion  of  his  time.  It  was  not, 
however,  always  that,  in  the  pressure  of  his  forensic  engagements,  he 
could  gratify  this  purpose,  without  too  large  a  sacrifice  of  immediate 
personal  interest;  but  we  remark  in  his  letters,  how  much  this  lite 
rary  scheme  engrossed  his  thoughts,  and  beguiled  the  severer  occupa 
tions  of  his  profession. 

The  purpose  of  writing  a  biography  of  Patrick  Henry,  which,  as 
we  have  heretofore  remarked,  had  been  contemplated,  in  connection 
with  a  work  embracing  a  number  of  other  distinguished  men  of  Yir- 


CHAP.  XVIII.]          LETTER  TO  MR.  JEFFERSON.  251 

ginia,  was  now  resumed.     In  reference  to  this  design,  Wirt  wrote  the 
following  letter  to  Mr.  Jefferson : 

TO   THOMAS   JEFFERSON. 

RICHMOND,  January  18,  1810. 
DEAR  SIR  : 

About  four  years  ago,  you  were  so  good  as  to  state  that  if  the  Life 
of  Henry  was  not  destined  to  come  out  very  speedily,  you  would  en 
deavour  to  recollect  what  might  be  of  service  to  it ;  and  that,  having 
run  your  course  with  him  for  more  than  twenty  years,  and  witnessed 
the  part  he  bore  in  every  great  question,  you  would  perhaps  be  able 
to  recal  some  interesting  anecdotes. 

I  do  not  refer  to  your  letter  as  constituting  a  promise,  or  giving 
me  any  manner  of  claim  on  you.  I  do  not  regard  it  in  that  light ; 
and  have  merely  reminded  you  of  it  as  an  apology  for  the  renewal  of 
my  request.  In  truth,  so  great  is  the  inconsistency  of  the  statements 
which  I  have  received  of  his  life  and  character,  and  so  recent  and 
warm  the  prejudices  of  his  friends  and  his  adversaries,  that  I  had 
almost  brought  my  mind  to  lay  aside  the  project  as  one  too  ticklish 
for  faithful  execution  at  the  present  time.  But  every  day,  and  es 
pecially  every  meeting  of  the  Legislature,  convince  me  that  the  times 
require  a  little  discipline,  which  cannot  be  rendered  so  interesting  in 
a  didactic  form,  as  if  interwoven  with  the'  biography  of  a  celebrated 
man  :  and  although  I  know  very  many  much  better  qualified  to  give 
this  discipline  than  myself,  I  hear  of  no  one  who  is  disposed  to  do  it. 
It  is  for  this  reason,  only,  that  /  am  so  disposed. 

Mr.  Henry  seems  to  me  a  good  text  for  a  discourse  on  rhetoric, 
patriotism  and  morals.  The  work  might  be  made  useful  to  young 
men  who  are  just  coming  forward  into  life  :  this  is  the  highest  point 
of  my  expectation;  nor  do  I  deem  the  object  a  trifling  one,  since  on 
these  young  men  the  care  and  safety  of  the  republic  must  soon 
devolve. 

As  for  the  prejudices  for  and  against  him,  I  shall  endeavour  to 
treat  the  subject  with  so  much  candour,  as  not  justly  to  give  offence 
to  any  one.  I  think  this  may  be  avoided  without  a  sacrifice  of  truth. 
Of  this,  and  consequently  of  the  expediency  of  publishing  at  this 
time,  I  shall  be  better  able  to  judge  when  the  work  is  finished ; 
which,  I  hope,  it  will  be  this  summer,  unless  the  ill  health  of  my 
family  should  again  send  me  a  travelling. 

I  should  feel  myself  very  much  indebted  to  you,  if,  during  the 
leisure  which  I  hope  you  are  now  enjoying,  you  could  make  it  matter 
of  amusement  to  yourself  (I  would  not  wish  it  otherwise,)  to  throw 
together,  for  my  use,  such  incidents  touching  Mr.  Henry  as  may 
occur  to  you. 

I  never  heard  nor  saw  Mr.  Henry,  and  am,  therefore,  anxious  to 


252  LETTER  TO  CARR.  [1810. 

have  a  distinct  view  of  the  peculiarities  of  his  character  as  a  man,  a 
politician,  and  an  orator ;  and  particularly  of  the  grounds  and  points 
of  his  excellence  in  the  latter  aspect. 

It  would  very  much  animate  and  enrich  the  biography  to  add  to  it 
a  striking  portrait  of  the  characters  of  the  eminent  men  with  whom 
he  acted.  I  am  the  more  especially  anxious  for  a  portrait  of  Richard 
II.  Lee,  because  I  understand  that  he  was  the  great  rival  of  Mr. 
Henry  in  eloquence.  I  have  heard  the  late  Governor  Page  say  that 
he  was  the  superior. 

"Will  this  not  be  adding  too  much  to  the  trouble  which  I  am  already 
seeking  to  give  you  ?  But  I  beg  you  to  feel  no  difficulty  in  disposing 
of  the  whole  request  as  it  may  suit  your  convenience. 

If,  instead  of  being  an  amusement,  you  think  it  would  be  trouble 
some  to  you,  I  should  be  much  more  sensibly  obliged  to  you   to 
decline  it  altogether  than  to  encounter  the  trouble :  since,  with  every 
wish  for  the  peace  and  enjoyment  of  your  future  life, 
I  am,  dear  sir, 

Your  obedient  servant, 

WM.  WIRT. 

The  expectation  of  completing  this  Life  of  Patrick  Henry  in  the 
course  of  the  year  in  which  this  letter  was  written  was  not  fulfilled. 
The  work  referred  to,  was  not  given  to  the  public  until  several  years 
afterwards. 

"VVirt  had  projected  a  visit  with  Dabney  Carr  and  some  other  friends, 
to  Washington,  during  the  session  of  Congress,  "to  see  the  lions " 
there,  and  amuse  themselves  by  an  intercourse  with  the  magnates  of 
the  nation.  He  was,  however,  obliged  to  forego  this  frolic, — as  it 
was  meant  to  be, — and  to  remain  at  home,  with  an  eye  to  his  busi 
ness,  which  was  now  rapidly  increasing,  very  much  to  the  benefit  of 
his  purse,  though  not  in  the  same  degree  to  the  promotion  of  his 
comfort.  In  reference  to  this  trip,  he  writes  the  following  letter : 


TO  DABNEY  CARR. 

RICHMOND,  January  19,  1810, 

Yours  of  the  9th,  my  dear  friend,  reached  me  last  night.  It  is 
undoubtedly  an  eloquent  letter,  for  it  put  me  exactly  in  the  state  of 
the  twelve  signs  of  the  zodiac  that  surround  the  pedestal  of  the  sleep 
ing  Venus,  at  Monticello ;  it  was  a  smile  and  a  tear,  from  beginning 
to  end ;  which  is  better  proof  of  the  merit  of  the  letter  than  if  it  fitted 
Aristotle's  square  in  every  part. 


CHAP.  XVIII.]  OPINION  OF  NEW  ENGLAND  ORATORY.          253 

It  is  in  vain  to  sigh  about  it ;  go  I  cannot.  In  ten  days  more, 
begins  our  Court  of  Chancery ;  and  then  I  have  no  rest  (not  for  a 
day,)  till  August.  My  scheme  of  winter's  preparation  has  been  a 
good  deal  unhinged  by  a  spell  of  sickness,  from  which  I  am  just  re 
covering  ;  but  I  shall  not  suffer  the  vacation  to  pass  entirely  without 
profit. 

This,  I  suppose,  will  find  you  in  Washington.  I  wish  you  may 
meet  with  all  the  enjoyment  you  anticipated.  John  Randolph  has 
not  gone  on;  and  to  hear  him  speak  was  the  primum  mobile  of 
Peter's  project  and  mine.  I  am  very  anxious  to  hear  John  Randolph  • 
they  tell  me  that  he  is  an  orator,  and  I  am  curious  to  hear  one ;  for 
I  never  yet  heard  a  man  who  answered  the  idea  I  have  formed  of  an 
orator. 

He  has  ever  been  ambitious,  and  I  do  not  doubt  that  from  the  time 
he  was  seventeen  years  old,  he  has  been  training  himself,  most  assi 
duously,  for  public  speaking.  He  has  formed  himself,  I  fancy,  on  the 
model  of  Chatham ;  but  the  vigour  of  Chatham's  mind,  and  that  god 
like  fire  which  breathed  from  him,  were  not  to  be  imitated. 

By-the-bye,  I  think  this  business  of  imitation  always  a  badge  of 
inferiority  of  genius;  most  frequently  an  injudicious  business,  too  — 
since  the  imitation  has  generally  little  other  effect  than  to  remind  the 

hearer  or  reader  of  the  superiority  of  the  original. 

*  *  *  *  *  * 

God  bless  you  forever  and  ever, 

WM.  WIRT. 

Our  New  England  friends  will  smile  at  the  account  given  of  their 
oratory,  in  the  following  extract  from  another  letter  to  Carr,  written, 
I  have  reason  to  suppose, — for  it  is  without  date, — soon  after  the  last, 
and  whilst  Carr  was  in  Washington.  I  need  not  say,  that  the  esti 
mate  here  made  of  New  England  eloquence  and  character,  was  rather 
an  echo  of  the  absurd  prejudices  then  current  in  the  South,  than  any 
deliberate  opinion  of  Wirt's  own.  We  shall  find  hereafter,  that  no 
man  was  either  more  able  or  more  willing  to  do  full  justice  to  the 
many  virtues  of  our  Northern  brethren  than  he.  In  the  mean  time, 
this  sketch  of  them  may  be  noticed  to  show  to  what  a  different  point 
of  the  compass  the  opinion  of  forty  years  ago  turned,  upon  the  topic 
of  this  letter,  from  what  it  does  now. 

TO   DABNEY  CARR. 

*  *  *  *  -x-  * 

"  I  fear  you  will  find  but  little  amusement  in  the  formal  cant  of 
the  New  Englanders.    I  never  heard  one  of  them ;  but  I  suspect  that 
VOL.  L— 22 


254  THE  SENTINEL.  [1810. 

Callender  has,  at  least,  coloured  the  picture  of  the  national  manner 
high  enough  when,  in  drawing  Dexter  he  says,  l  Mr.  Dexter  has  a 
great  deal  of  that  kind  of  eloquence  which  struts  around  the  heart- 
without  ever  entering  it/ 

"  The  impression  which  I  have  received  of  them  is,  that  they  are 
trained,  like  the  disputants  in  the  old  schools  of  logic,  to  be  equally 
ready  for  every  subject :  that  they  can  speak  on  any  one  with  equal 
volubility ; —  but  that  there  is  no  more  variation  of  feeling,  nor  con 
sequently  of  expression  in  them,  than  in  the  brazen  mask  which 
covered  the  face  of  the  actor  in  Rome/' 


With  all  "Wirt's  disinclination  to  embarrass  himself  with  the  duties 
of  public  station,  he  was  ever  ready  to  enter  the  field  of  political  con 
test  in  defence  of  his  friends  or  the  party  to  which  he  was  attached. 
To  both  of  these,  he  had,  more  than  once,  rendered  most  effective 
service,  and  this  was  acknowledged  by  the  public  in  the  popular  appro 
bation  which  he  heard  expressed  from  all  quarters,  and  especially 
from  the  distinguished  men  in  whose  behalf  he  had  laboured.  He 
had,  as  we  have  seen,  been  one  of  the  first  to  reprove  that  attempt  to 
produce  a  schism  in  the  republican  party  which,  in  the  then  recent 
presidential  contest,  had  divided  the  friends  of  Mr.  Madison  and  Mr. 
Monroe;  and  the  letters  of  t(  One  of  the  People/'  had  a  very  exten 
sive  circulation  through  the  State.  The  authorship  of  those  letters, 
although  not  confessed  to  the  world,  was  every  where  well  known, 
and  gave  to  the  writer  a  conspicuous  position  in  his  party. 

An  occasion  was  presented,  during  this  summer,  to  bring  him  once 
more  before  the  public.  Mr.  Madison's  administration  was  assailed 
with  great  asperity.  Some  of  the  protestors  of  1808  were  in  open 
war  against  it,  and  political  hate  had  lost  none  of  its  harshness,  noi 
its  industry  in  the  tactics  of  assault.  To  breast  this  opposing  force 
of  querulous  denunciation  of  Mr.  Madison  and  his  friends,  Wirt  pub 
lished  a  few  essays  with  the  title  of  "  The  Sentinel."  These  papers 
were  written  in  a  different  style  from  his  former  political  compositions ; 
were  more  free  of  that  ambitious  declamation  which  may  be  noticed 
in  some  portions  of  the  letters  of  One  of  the  People.  His  object  in 
this  change  of  style  was  to  mislead  the  public  as  to  the  author ;  but 
the  public,  accustomed  to  the  flavour  of  his  pen,  were  not  deceived 
by  the  assumed  disguise,  and  he  became  as  well  known  for  these  essays 


CHAP.  XVIII.]  LETTER  TO  EDWARDS.  255 

as  for  the  former.  "  I  hope  I  shall  be  prudent  some  time  or  other/' 
he  says  in  a  letter  to  Carr,  "  though  I  sometimes  doubt  whether  my 
scribbling  so  much  in  the  papers  is  an  evidence  of  it.  I  suppose  I 
am  to  subject  myself  to  some  personal  reflections  in  the  press  for  the 
portrait  of  Randolph.  I  should  have  no  objection  to  being  treated 
as  candidly  as  he  has  been ;  but  when  they  lay  hold  of  me,  they  maul 
me  in  a  different  style.  But  as  Bullock's  countryman  said,  about 
being  called  t  Billy'  before  the  Governor,  '  I  didn't  care  for  that  /' " 

We  have,  in  the  letters  of  Wirt,  occasional  reflections  upon  his  own 
career,  which  are  particularly  adapted  to  the  instruction  of  the  young. 
He  seems  to  have  been  moved,  at  many  periods  of  his  life,  to  record 
in  his  letters  the  results  of  his  experience  in  the  difficulties  he  had 
encountered,  with  some  conviction  that  he  owed  it  to  the  rising  gene 
ration  to  warn  and  guard  them  against  the  dangers  which  that  expe 
rience  had  taught  him  were  so  greatly  to  be  dreaded.  These  frequent 
passages  in  his  letters,  as  well  as  the  general  scope  and  aim  of  his 
literary  compositions,  may  be  said  to  present  him  somewhat  con 
spicuously  in  the  character  of  the  Friend  and  Instructor  of  youth,  a 
title  which  I  am  happy  to  find,  has  been  more  than  once  recognized 
by  the  young  men  of  the  United  States,  in  the  formation  of  societies 
bearing  his  name,  and  whose  pursuits  are  directed  to  the  course  pre 
scribed  by  his  inculcations.  A  few  extracts  from  a  letter  to  Mr. 
Edwards,  at  the  period  to  which  our  narrative  has  arrived,  will  be 
read  as  an  illustration  of  these  remarks. 

TO    BENJAMIN    EDWARDS. 

RICHMOND,  May  8,  1810. 

MY    DEAR    AND    REVERED    FRIEND: 

*  -X-  -X-  •*  * 

I  have,  indeed,  great  cause  of  gratitude  to  Heaven.  I  will  not  say 
that  Providence  has  led  me,  but  that,  in  spite  of  the  reluctant  and 
rebellious  propensities  of  my  nature,  it  has  dragged  me  from  obscurity 
and  vice,  to  respectability  and  earthly  happiness. 

In  reviewing  the  short  course  of  my  life,  I  can  see  where  I  made 
plunges  from  which  it  seems  clearly  to  me  that  nothing  less  than  a 
divine  hand  could  ever  have  raised  me }  but  I  have  been  raised,  and 
I  trust  that  my  feet  are  now  upon  a  rock.  Yet  can  I  never  cease  to 
deplore  the  years  of  my  youth,  that  I  have  murdered  in  idleness  and 
folly.  I  can  only  fancy,  with  a  sigh  of  unwilling  regret,  the  figure 
which  I  might  have  made,  had  I  devoted  to  study  those  hours  which 


256  REVIEW  OF  THE  PAST.  [1810. 

I  gave  up  to  giddy  dissipation,  and  which  now  cannot  be  recalled.  I 
have  read  enough  to  show  me,  dimly  and  at  a  distance,  the  great  out 
line  of  that  scheme  of  literary  conquest,  which  it  was  once  in  my  power 
to  fill  up  in  detail.  I  have  got  to  the  foot  of  the  mountain,  arid  see 
the  road  which  passes  over  its  summit,  and  leads  to  the  promised  land ; 
but  it  is  too  late  in  life  for  me.  I  must  be  content  to  lay  my  bones 
on  the  hither  side,  and  point  out  the  path  to  my  son.  Do  not  charge 
these  sentiments  either  to  a  weak  and  spiritless  despondency  or  to 
sluggish  indolence.  I  know  that  a  good  deal  may  yet  be  done,  and  I 
mean,  as  far  as  I  can,  that  it  shall  be  done ;  yet,  comparatively,  it  will 
be  but  a  drop  in  the  bucket.  Seven-and-thirty  is  rather  too  late  for  a 
man  to  begin  his  education ;  more  especially  when  he  is  hampered  by 
the  duties  of  a  profession,  and  in  this  age  of  the  world,  when  every 
science  covers  so  much  ground  by  itself.  "What  a  spur  should  this 
reflection  be  to  young  men  !  Yet  there  is  scarcely  one  in  ten  thou 
sand  of  them,  who  will  understand  or  believe  it,  until,  as  in  my  case, 
it  comes  home  to  the  heart,  when  it  is  too  late.  I  now  think  that  I 
know  all  the  flaws  and  weak  places  of  my  mind.  I  know  which  of 
the  muscles  want  tone  and  vigour,  and  which  are  braced  beyond  the 
point  of  health.  I  also  think  I  know  what  course  of  early  training 
would  have  brought  them  all  to  perform  their  proper  functions  in  har 
monious  concert.  But  now  the  character  of  my  mind  is  fixed ;  and 
as  to  any  beneficial  change,  one  might  as  well  call  upon  a  tailor,  who 
has  sat  upon  his  shop-board  until  the  calves  of  his  legs  are  shrivelled, 
to  carry  the  burthens  of  a  porter ;  or  upon  a  man  whose  hand  is  vio 
lently  shaken  with  the  palsy,  to  split  hairs  with  a  razor.  Such  as  it 
is,  it  will  probably  remain,  with  a  little  accession,  perhaps,  of  know 
ledge.  You  will  do  me  injustice  if  you  infer,  from  what  I  have  said, 
that  I  am  sighing  with  regret  at  those  distant  heights  of  political  ho 
nours  which  lie  beyond  my  reach.  I  do  not  know  whether  to  consider 
it  as  a  vice  or  virtue  of  my  nature, — but  so  far  am  I  from  sighing  for 
political  honours,  that  I  pant  only  for  seclusion  and  tranquillity,  in 
which  I  may  enjoy  the  sweets  of  domestic  and  social  love ;  raise  my 
faculties,  by  assiduous  cultivation,  to  their  highest  attainable  point, 
and  prepare  for  that  state  of  future  existence  to  which  I  know  that  I 
am  hastening.  Nor  should  I  propose  to  myself,  in  such  solitude,  to 
forget  what  I  owe  to  my  country :  on  the  contrary,  I  think  I  could  be 
much  more  solidly  useful,  in  that  situation,  than  in  one  more  public 
and  active.  So  strongly  are  my  hopes  and  wishes  fixed  on  this  life 
of  sequestration  and  peace,  that  if  you  ever  hear  of  my  having  entered 
on  a  political  course,  you  may  rely  upon  it  that  it  is  a  painful  and 
heart-rending  sacrifice  to  a  sense  of  public  duty.  I  hope  and  trust 
that  such  an  emergency  is  scarcely  possible.  I  am  sure  that  it  is  very 
improbable;  because  I  believe  there  will  always  be  those  who  are 
much  better  qualified  for  public  offices,  and  certainly  far  more  anxious 
for  them  than  I  am.  At  the  same  time,  I  think  our  country  is,  at 


CHAP.  XVIII.]  DEFECTS  OF  EDUCATION.  257 

present,  very  badly  supplied  with  materials  for  future  legislation  and 
government.  I  cast  my  eyes  over  the  continent,  in  vain,  in  quest  of 
successors  to  our  present  patriots.  There  seems  to  me  a  most  mise 
rable  and  alarming  dearth  of  talents  and  acquirements  among  the 
young  men  of  the  U.  S.  I  have  sometimes  sat  down  and  endeavoured 
to  fill  the  various  offices  in  the  government  with  characters  drawn  from 
those  who  are  made  known  to  us,  either  personally  or  by  fame.  But 
so  far  am  I  from  finding  among  them  a  man  fit  for  a  president,  that  I 
cannot  even  find  persons  fit  for  the  heads  of  departments.  What  has 
become  of  the  talents  of  the  country?  Are  they  utterly  extinct  ?  Or 
do  they  merely  slumber ;  and  does  it  require  another  great  convulsion, 
like  our  revolutionary  war,  to  rouse  their  dormant  energies  ?  I  my 
self  think  that  it  proceeds,  in  a  very  great  degree,  if  not  altogether, 
from  defective  education.  Our  teachers  themselves  either  want  learn 
ing,  or  they  want  the  address  necessary  to  excite  into  vigorous  action 
the  powers  of  the  mind.  Young  men  are  everywhere  turned  loose,  in 
the  various  professions,  with  minds  half  awake,  and  their  surface 
merely  a  little  disturbed  with  science.  This  is  not  the  way  great  men 
have  been  made,  either  in  Europe  or  America.  As  long  as  this 
system  is  pursued,  we  shall  never  have  any  thing  but  political 
quacks. 

*  •*  *  *  *  #  * 

You  will  no  doubt  have  seen,  in  the  public  papers,  the  loss  we  have 
suffered  in  the  premature  death  of  my  wife's  father,  Col.  Robert  Gam 
ble.  In  the  full  enjoyment  of  health  and  strength,  of  uncommon 
mental  and  corporeal  vigour,  in  the  active  and  prosperous  pursuit  of 
his  business,  his  children  all  established,  surrounded  by  his  grand 
children  and  an  extensive  circle  of  sincere  and  fervent  friends,  and 
with  the  fairest  prospects  of  earthly  happiness  opening  around  him  on 
every  hand,  he  was  suddenly  killed,  on  the  morning  of  the  12th  in 
stant,  by  a  fall  from  his  horse.  He  was  a  faithful  soldier  of  the  revo 
lution,  a  sincere  and  zealous  Christian,  one  of  the  best  of  fathers,  and 
honestest  of  men. 


* 
Yours, 


WM.  WIRT. 


The  last  portion  of  this  letter  refers  to  an  event  which  deprived  the 
society  of  Richmond  of  one  of  its  best  members.  Colonel  Gamble 
had  served  with  credit,  during  the  revolutionary  war,  and  engaging  in 
commerce  soon  after  its  termination,  had  amassed,  as  we  have  hereto 
fore  had  occasion  to  remark,  a  considerable  fortune  in  Richmond, 
where  he  lived,  honoured  and  beloved  by  all  who  knew  him,  illustrate 
22* 


258  LETTER  TO  CARR.  [1810. 

ing  the  benevolence  of  his  character,  by  many  acts  of  kindness  and 
charity  to  those  around  him.* 

The  succeeding  letters  will  show  that  the  occupations  of  the  courts, 
to  which  some  amusing  reference  is  made,  had  not  blunted  the  edge 
of  the  writer's  literary  appetite,  nor  entirely  deprived  him  of  the  lei 
sure  necessary  for  its  indulgence. 

TO    DABNEY   CARR. 

RICHMOND,  September  9,  1810. 
MY  DEAR  FRIEND  : 

I  received,  in  regular  course  of  mail,  your  favour  of  the  27th  ulti 
mo.  Briggs'  is  really  a  hard  case ;  and  I  will  endeavour,  although 
it  will  be  irregular,  to  introduce  the  Court  of  Appeals  to  a  more  inti 
mate  knowledge  of  it  than  the  records  will  furnish. 

*  *  *  *  *  * 

My  ink  was  rather  too  thick  to  write  with  pleasure,  so  I  have  thinned 
it,  and  mended  my  pen ; — and  now,  sir,  here  's  at  you ! 

Why,  yes,  sir,  as  you  say,  it  is  a  pleasant  thing  to  lead  the  life  of  a 
county  court  lawyer ;  but  yet  (as  one  of  Congreve's  wittol  squires  said, 
when  his  guardian  bully  suffered  himself  to  be  kicked,  and  called  it 
pleasant)  "  it  is  a  pleasure  I  would  as  soon  be  without."  Yet  I  doubt 
not  that  your  sum  of  happiness  is  as  great,  if  not  greater,  than  if  you 
were  a  "general  court  lawyer,"  as  the  phrase  used  to  be. 

*  He  was  born  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Staunton,  where  his  father,  an 
emigrant  from  Scotland,  possessed  a  good  landed  estate.  At  the  breaking 
out  of  the  war,  he  entered  the  service  as  a  subaltern  officer,  having  just 
married  a  Miss  Grattan,  who  had,  at  an  early  age,  come  with  her  parents 
from  Ireland,  being  remotely  connected  with  the  family  of  the  distinguished 
leader  of  the  Irish  Parliament  of  the  same  name.  Col.  Gamble  served  until 
the  peace,  and  then  established  himself  as  a  merchant  in  Staunton,  whence 
he  removed  to  Richmond.  Here  he  lived  in  the  enjoyment  of  an  elegant 
hospitality,  and  in  intimate  association  with  that  circle  which  was  made  up 
of  Chief  Justice  Marshall  and  his  contemporaries.  He  was  in  the  habit  of 
riding  every  morning  to  his  counting-room,  from  his  residence  on  Gamble's 
Hill,  as  it  is  yet  called  in  Richmond.  He  thus  met  his  death.  April  12th, 
1810,  he  was  riding  at  a  leisurely  pace  down  one  of  the  streets,  near  the 
river,  reading  a  newspaper,  and  giving  but  little  attention  to  his  horse. 
It  happened  that  some  buffalo-skins  were  thrown  from  the  upper  story  of 
a  warehouse,  as  he  was  passing  it;  his  horse  took  fright,  started  and  threw 
him,  which  produced  concussion  of  the  brain,  and  terminated  his  life  in  a 
few  hours.  He  was  then  in  his  fifty-sixth  year.  He  left  behind  him  two 
sons,  who  now  are  both  living  in  Florida,  gentlemen  deservedly  esteemed 
for  their  personal  worth,  and  two  daughters,  with  whose  history  the  reader 
is  already  pa^ually  acquainted. 


CHAP.  XVIII.]  LABOURS  OF  THE  LAWYER.  259 

Those  same  returns  that  you  speak  of — My  Grod  !  does  not  a  man, 
at  such  times,  live  as  much  in  a  minute  as,  in  ordinary  times,  he  does 
in  an  hour  or  a  day?  These  arc  the  breezes  of  which  poets  and  ora 
tors  sing,  and  say  that  they  shake  the  atmosphere  of  life,  and  keep  it 
from  stagnation  and  pestilence.  I  know  that  your  life  would  be  in 
no  danger  of  stagnation  or  pestilence,  even  if  you  were  to  live  forever 
at  home :  yet  I  imagine  that  there  is  no  man,  however  happy  in  the 
circle  of  his  family,  who  does  not  find  himself  made  more  conscious  of 
that  happiness,  and  his  feelings  of  enjoyment  quickened,  by  these  oc 
casional  separations.  This  is  the  way  in  which  I  reconcile  myself  to 
them ;  since,  although  not  a  county  court  lawyer  at  this  present,  I  am 
doomed  to  these  separations  as  well  as  you. 

As  to  the  labour  and  fatigue  which  you  undergo, — look  at  the 
health  which  you  derive  from  it,  and  the  consequent  clearness  of  brain, 
and  capacity  for  happiness.  Besides,  mark  the  majestic  obesity  which 
you  exhibit,  in  spite  of  all  your  exercise ;  and  consider  "  what  a  thing 
you  would  be,  if  you  were  bloated,"  as  Falstaff  says,  by  inactivity. 

When  I  think  of  the  mountain  scenery,  the  fine  air,  the  society  of 
nature,  in  Albemarle,  I  am  convinced  that  nothing  less  than  my  being 
doomed,  by  my  nativity,  to  the  life  of  a  wandering  Arab,  would  have 
rolled  me  through  Richmond,  to  Williamsburg,  to  Norfolk,  and  back 
here  again.  Even  now,  I  can  scarcely  persuade  myself  that  I  am  sta 
tionary,  and  should  not  be  at  all  surprised,  ten  or  fifteen  years  hence, 
(if  I  live  so  long,)  to  find  myself  in  some  valley,  among  the  mountains 
of  Pennsylvania. 

But,  to  return  to  the  life  of  a  county  court  lawyer. — ("  Sir,"  say 
you,  "you  ought  not  to  wish  to  return  to  it." — I  hate  a  pun:  so, 
Jlllonsty — What  I  object  to  it  for,  is  the  very  thing  I  ought  most  to 
covet,  the  corporeal  labour  to  which  it  subjects  one,  (not  meaning  of 
a  pun,  of  course — Curse  these  interlineations  !  how  they  puzzle  one  ! 
— but  the  life  of  a  county  court  lawyer ;)  for,  as  to  the  fatigue  of  the 
mind,  I  do  suppose  that  we  are  much  more  oppressed  than  you  are. 
Our  courts,  for  example,  have  now  begun,  and  we  have  no  more  inter 
mission  from  labour,  not  even  during  the  Sabbath,  until  about  Christ 
mas.  The  few  last  days  of  December,  and  the  month  of  January, 
belong  to  us ;  and  then,  from  the  first  of  February  to  the  first  of  July, 
we  are  slaves  again.  Even  the  intervals  between  these  sessions,  if  we 
were  wise,  ought  to  be  devoted  to  preparation  for  the  ensuing  cam- 
"paign ;  so  that  it  is  literally  by  playing  the  truant,  that  we  have  a  day 
of  rest  from  our  labours. 

Now,  sir,  think  of  this,  and  remember  that  it  is  on  me  you  would 
pack  the  labours  of  "the  Sylph,"  because  you  are  too  busy. 

I  much  fear  the  Sylph  is  doomed  never  to  see  the  light.  Profes 
sional  labours  thicken  around  me  this  fall,  and  it  will  require  the  most 
intense  application  on  my  part,  to  keep  pace  even  with  the  progress 
of  my  little  name.  This  prospect  does  not  cheer  me.  I  feel  as  if  the 


260  ANCIENT  AND  MODERN  ORATORY.  [1810. 

waves  were  closing  over  my  head,  and  cutting  me  off  from  all  that 
delights  me.  To  be  buried  in  law  for  eight  or  ten  years,  without  the 
power  of  opening  a  book  of  taste  for  a  single  day !  "  0  horrible ! 
horrible  !  most  horrible  I"  0  for  that  wealth  that  would  enable  me 
to  wander  at  large  through  the  fields  of  general  literature,  as  whim  or 
feeling  might  direct,  for  days  and  weeks  and  months  together,  and 
thus  to  raise,  enlighten,  and  refine  my  mind  and  heart,  until  I  became 
a  fit  inhabitant  for  those  brighter  fields  of  light  that  lie  above  us ! 

Do  you  think  that  a  fellow,  after  wrangling  and  cr angling  (as 
Daniel  Call  says)  for  twenty  or  thirty  years  on  this  earth,  is  fit  to  go 
to  heaven  ?  Don't  you  think  he  would  be  perpetually  disturbing  the 
inhabitants  by  putting  cases  of  law,  and  that  he  would  be  miserable 
for  the  want  of  a  dispute  ?  If  so,  well  may  it  be  said,  "Wo  unto  you, 
ye  lawyers!" — The  which  "wo"  I  think  it  might  be  wise  in  us  to 
interpret  quadrupedantically,  and  cease  from  our  wicked  labours.  But 
what  can  we  do  ?  "Ay ! — there 's  the  rub  that  makes  calamity  of  so 
long  life  '}  that  makes  us  rather  bear  the  ills  we  have,  than  fly  to  others 
that  we  know  not  of."  But  more  of  this  anon.  For  the  present,  with 
love  to  Mrs.  C.  and  your  children,  not  forgetting  Frank,  adieu.  I  am 
alone, — my  wife  is  gone  back  to  Cabell's, — but,  nevertheless, 

Your  friend, 

WM.  WIRT. 


TO   DABNEY  CARR. 

RICHMOND,  December  17,  1810. 
MY  DEAR  FRIEND  : 

A  bill  introduced  by  Blackburn  to  increase  the  number  of  Judges 
in  the  Court  of  Appeals  has  been  made  the  order  of  this  day. 

This  measure,  I  apprehend,  is  too  important  to  be  disposed  of  im 
mediately  ;  but  I  consider  it  as  the  harbinger  of  all  the  great  measures 
of  the  session,  and  the  signal  for  debate.  I  would  recommend  it  to 
you,  therefore,  to  be  here  in  the  course  of  this  week,  or  at  all  events, 
by  Sunday. 

I  am  told  that,  in  point  of  abilities,  we  have  a  better  House  now 
than  we  have  had  for  several  years.  Those  who  make  it  so  must, 
however,  be  all  young  men,  except  Colonel  Monroe ;  and  of  the  young 
men  our  system  of  education  is  too  defective  to  expect  much.  How 
little  does  it  resemble  a  Roman  senate ! 

Can  you  conceive  any  pleasure  superior  to  the  enjoyment  of  hear 
ing  a  debate,  on  a  great  public  measure,  conducted  by  such  men  as 
Cicero,  Cato,  Csesar,  and  their  compeers ; — that  pleasure  which  Sallust 
so  often  tasted,  and  of  which  he  has  left  us  such  brilliant  specimens  ? 
What  stores  of  knowledge  had  those  men ;  what  funds  of  argument, 
illustration  and  ornament ;  what  powers  of  persuasion,  what  force  of 
reason,  what  striking  and  impressive  action,  what  articulate  and  melo- 


CHAP.  XVIIL]  LETTERS  TO  CARR.  261 

dious  elocution ! — yet  each  speaker  marked  with  a  character  of  his 
own,  which  distinguished  him  from  all  the  world,  —  the  sportive 
amenity  of  Cicero,  the  god-like  dignity  of  Cato. 

How  interesting  must  it  have  been  to  listen  to  Julius  Caesar,  and 
watch  the  sly  operations  of  that  ambition  which  he  must  have  curbed 
with  so  much  difficulty !  I  think  it  is  Plutarch  who  tells  us  that 
Cicero  said  of  Caesar,  "that  when  he  saw  him  adjusting  his  locks  with 
so  much  care,  he  could  not  help  regarding  him  with  some  degree  of 
contempt,  as  a  fop  and  a  trifler ;  but  when  he  heard  him  speak,  he 
trembled  for  his  country  I"  or  something  to  this  effect. 

But,  without  going  back  to  Rome,  how  little  does  any  House  that 
we  have  had  for  some  years  past  resemble  the  House  in  which  Jeffer 
son,  Pendleton,  Henry,  Richard  H.  Lee,  Wythe,  Bland  and  others 
were  members ;  or  the  Convention  which  ratified  the  Constitution ;  or 
the  Assembly  of  '99-1800,  in  which  Madison,  Giles,  John  Taylor 
of  Caroline,  Brent,  Swann,  Tazewell  and  Taylor  of  Norfolk  were 
members ! 

Yet,  without  any  extraordinary  prejudice  in  favour  of  antiquity,  I 
apprehend  that  we  have  never  yet,  by  any  of  our  Houses,  matched  a 
Roman  senate  as  a  whole.  The  system  of  education  at  Rome  seems 
to  have  been  such  a  one  as  to  turn  out  every  young  man  accomplished, 
at  all  points,  for  the  service  of  his  country.  And  when  a  young  man 
was  emulous  of  any  thing  extraordinary,  he  visited  and  received  the 
instructions  of  every  foreign  school  distinguished  for  science  or  elo 
quence, — as  we  see  in  the  example  of  Cicero, — and  thus  extracted 
and  mingled  the  sweets  of  every  exotic  and  indigenous  flower. 

When  will  our  young  men  ever  take  these  pains  ?  For  I  persuade 
myself  that  nothing  is  necessary  but  a  general  exertion,  "  a  heave 
together/'  aided  by  a  judicious  course  of  education,  to  make  the  people 
of  this  country  equal  to  any  in  the  world,  ancient  or  modern. 

In  the  few  instances  of  eminent  exertion  which  have  occurred,  a 
weight  of  mind  has  been  attained  which  has  rarely,  if  ever,  been  sur 
passed  ;  that  is  to  say,  the  exertion  has  produced  the  effect  which  was 
aimed  at — knowledge,  strength,  discrimination ;  but  this  exertion  has 
never  been  pointed  with  such  success  at  the  art  of  public  debating,  as 
to  bring  us  near  old  Rome. 

I  see,  in  the  last  number  of  Rees'  Cyclopaedia,  a  remark  extracted 
,  from  Thilwall's  Lectures  on  Elocution,  which  seems  to  me  very  just : 
lie  says  that  our  inferiority  to  the  ancient  orators  consists  not  in  the 
substance  of  what  we  say,  but  in  the  manner  of  it — that  is,  in  elocu 
tion,  which  includes  every  thing  that  relates  to  the  delivery,  more 
particularly  the  articulation  and  intonations  of  the  voice,  together 
with  the  time,  as  musicians  call  it. 

To  this  purpose,  what  engines  were  the  public  schools  of  eloquence 
among  the  Romans,  and  still  more,  perhaps,  the  extemporaneous  lec 
tures  of  the  travelling  philosophers  from  Greece  !  What  whetstones 


262  LETTERS' TO  CARR.  [1810. 

to  the  emulation  of  young  men,  the  splendid  examples  of  rhetoric 
which  those  philosophers  were  every  day  exhibiting,  and  the  raptures 
of  applause  with  which  they  were  heard  !  Compared  with  such  incen 
tives  as  these,  how  dull  and  low  is  every  thing  we  see  in  this  country  ! 
—  a  jig  upon  the  banjo  of  an  ash-covered  negro,  compared  with  an 
anthem  on  Handel's  organ  ! 

I  am  still  of  the  opinion  that  an  extemporaneous  lecturer,  well  fitted 
for  the  office,  might  perform  wonders  for  the  young  men  of  this  coun 
try.  What  might  not  Ogilvie  have  done,  if  his  enthusiasm  had  been 
backed  by  the  genius  and  mellifluous  eloquence  of  Plato ! 

It  is  true  that  experimental  philosophy  and  revelation  have  taken 
away  the  themes  of  ihe  Roman  and  Grecian  philosophers,  in  a  very 
great  degree ;  but  themes  enough  still  remain  in  physics,  ethics,  poli 
tics,  &c.  Think  of  such  a  man  as  Parson  Waddell,  the  master  of  a 
school  of  eloquence ! 

Here  I  am  betrayed  into  an  essay,  when  I  only  sat  down  to  an 
nounce  to  you  that  I  thought  it  was  time  for  you  to  come  hither.  It 
is  well  enough,  however,  to  keep  down  your  expectations,  and  prevent 
such  another  disappointment  as  you  experienced  last  winter  at  Wash 
ington. 

Some  years  ago,  Ritchie  drew  a  character  of  Tazewell,  in  which 
he  accounted  for  the  deficiency  of  the  State  Legislature,  by  saying 
that  all  our  talents  had  gone  into  Congress.  What  would  he  be  able 
to  tell  an  observer,  now,  who  should  travel  with  him  from  Richmond 
to  Washington,  so  as  to  see  both  Houses  ?  But  enough  of  this. 

We  shall  look  for  you  about  Friday,  and  thenceforward  till  we  see 
you. 

I  expect  Peachy  also ;  and  Billy  Pope  is  to  be  in  town  at  the  same 
time.  He  is  full  of  anticipation. 

Remember  us  affectionately  to  Mrs.  C. ;  and  give  my  love  to  your 
brothers. 

WM.  WIRT. 

TO   DABNEY   CARR. 

RICHMOND,  December  24,  1810. 
MY  DEAR  FRIEND  : 

Your  two  favours  of  the  18th  and  20th  were  brought  me  yesterday 
morning,  while  at  breakfast.  And  although  the  intelligence  that  we 
were  not  to  see  you  till  the  10th  January  was  a  drawback,  to  which 
I  am  not  yet  reconciled,  I  read  both  your  letters,  but  especially  the 
last,  with  unusual  pleasure. 

*  -x-  -x-  -x-  -x-  -x- 

I  shall  immediately  announce  your  day,  both  to  Pope  and  Peachy. 
The  author  of  the  essays  on  the  United  States  Bank,  is  a  very  inti 
mate  friend  of  mine,  and  one  who  is  very  strongly  disposed,  and 


CHAP.  XVIIL]  PROJECT  OF  THE  OLD  BACHELOR.  263 

anxious  to  be  equally  intimate  with  you.  It  is  Richard  E.  Parker, 
the  Judge's  grandson,  a  captain  of  horse  in  our  legion, — infandum 
renovare  dolor  em! — and  a  nephew  of  the  Colonel  Parker  who  fell  at 
Charleston. 

*  *  *  -x-  *  * 

He  is  a  fine  fellow,  although  there  is  nothing  in  him  very  striking 
to  a  stranger.  As  a  member  of  the  House,  he  was  not  popular.  He 
spoke  his  mind,  on  all  occasions,  without  reserve,  and  was  constantly 
treading  on  somebody's  corns.  He  wanted  experience,  to  give  him 
the  allowable  policy  and  insinuation  of  a  popular  speaker.  But  I 
think  his  pen  promises  to  be  a  very  fine  one.  He  is  studious,  emu 
lous,  and  is  already,  I  think,  a  versatile  and  graceful  writer. 
******* 

He  was  with  me  the  other  evening,  and  I  imparted  to  him  our 
project  of  a  series  of  moral  and  literary  essays,  with  which  he  was 
delighted,  and  agreed  to  contribute,  provided  I  would  sit  at  the  helm, 
to  preserve  the  unity  of  course  and  character,  and  expunge,  alter  or 
reject,  any  thing  he  should  send  which  did  not  meet  my  approbation  j 
a  circumstance  which  I  mention  as  marking  his  modesty  and  discre 
tion,  and  as  giving  you  my  pledge,  (since  you  do  not  so  well  know 
him,)  that  your  co-responsibility  with  me  will  not  be  increased  by 
such  an  auxiliary. 

I  mentioned  to  him,  that  you  and  Frank  would  contribute,  and  he 
is  very  anxious  to  know  you  both.  I  will  endeavour  to  have  him  in 
Richmond  when  you  come  down ;  for,  at  present,  he  has  gone  home 
to  Westmoreland,  enraptured  with  the  scheme,  and  has  promised  that 
I  shall  soon  hear  from  him. 

Before  he  went,  we  agreed,  for  the  reasons  which  I  believe  I  sug 
gested  to  you, — the  too  palpable  fiction,  want  of  community  of  cha 
racter  and  interests,  and  unmanageability, — that  the  Sylph  would  net 
do.  So  I  have  hit  upon  another,  the  Old  Bachelor,  of  which  you 
will  see  two  numbers,  by  the  same  mail  which  carries  this. 

I  like  the  plan  myself,  much.  It  gives  scope  for  all  sorts  of  com 
position  •  and,  I  think,  the  adopted  children  of  the  Old  Bachelor  will 
enable  us  to  interweave  something  of  a  dramatic  interest  with  the 
work. 

I  shall  assign  the  young  doctor  to  Frank,  and  the  young  lawyer 
to  Parker.  You  and  I  will  manage  the  Old  Bachelor  and  the  Niece. 
How  do  you  like  it,  and  the  beginning  numbers  ? 

I  wish  you  to  bring  down  the  Sylph  with  you,  and  Frank's  essay 
upon  Doctor  Rush's  opinion  about  the  inferiority  of  women,  in  the 
form  of  a  letter,  addressed  to  his  Uncle  the  old  Bachelor,  the  key 
note  of  which  he  will  see  in  the  third  number.  It  need  not  have  the 
air  of  being  intended  for  publication,  but  of  being  a  letter  written  to 
his  uncle  in  the  ordinary  course  of  correspondence. 


264  THE  OLD  BACHELOR.  [1810. 

Your  story  of  Polemo  and  Xenocrates,  affected  me  almost  to  tears ; 
but  they  were  tears  of  pleasure.  You  tell  it  exquisitely,  and  beat 
both  Boyle  and  Valerius  Maximus,  the  original  reporter  of  the  story, 
out  of  sight.  I  shall  have  it  in  the  Old  Bachelor.  It  will  make  a 
brilliant  catastrophe  to  an  essay  on  temperance. 

I  am  now  going  to  take  a  liberty  which  nothing  but  our  old  and 
fraternal  friendship  could  justify.  You  have  powers,  of  which  you 
do  not  seem  conscious ;  powers  which  require  but  a  little  exertion,  on 
your  part,  to  unfold  them  to  the  public  eye,  in  the  van  of  the  distin 
guished  men  on  the  continent.  If  you  would  devote  your  hours  of 
rest  from  your  profession,  to  science  and  literature  on  a  bold  scale, 
and  practise  your  pen  in  composition,  you  would  soon  burst  from  the 
shell  of  your  district,  and  take  the  station  for  which  nature  designed  you. 

Neither  Voltaire  nor  Marmontel  ever  told  a  story  better  than  your 
Polemo.  I  mention  them,  because  I  think  your  pen  bears  a  striking 
resemblance  to  their  ease,  volubility,  arid  sprightliness. 

0  !  how  would  it  greet  my  soul,  to  lay  hold  of  your  arm,  and  travel 
with  you  up  the  steep,  to  that  same  Temple  with  the  female  trumpeter 
on  its  summit,  with  wings  expanded  and  on  the  last  tip-toe  of  flight, 
to  speed  her  news. 

You  know  me  too  well,  to  believe  these  remarks  complimentary, 
or  as  fishing  for  compliments  to  myself.  They  are  from  my  inmost 
soul,  and  proceed  from  an  earnest  desire  to  have  you  all  that  nature 
has  formed  you  capable  of  being.  I  think  you  owe  it,  too,  to  the  me 
mory  of  the  man  whose  name  you  bear ;  and  who,  if  he  had  lived  to 
the  ordinary  stage  of  life,  would  not  have  consented  to  expire  in  a 
corner,  in  obscurity,  and  leave  no  trace  of  that  name  on  the  rolls  of 
Fame. 

When  I  first  knew  you  about  fourteen  or  fifteen  years  ago,  you  felt 
as  you  ought  to  do  on  this  subject.  But  I  fear  that  Louisa  and  Flu- 
vanna  have  almost  extinguished  the  generous  spark.  Let  us  see  if 
we  cannot  rekindle  it  in  the  Old  Bachelor.  I  am,  myself,  determined, 
at  least,  to  spare  no  exertion  for  the  improvements  of  the  mind,  which 
I  have  too  long  wanted.  It  is  late,  indeed,  to  begin ;  but  both  Scaliger 
and  Hobbes  studied  mathematics  after  forty.  That  is  some  consola 
tion.  0  !  for  such  a  fortune  as  would  give  me  all  my  time  to  spend 
as  I  please !  But,  since  this  is  vain,  let  us  do  the  best  we  can,  and 
let  us  endeavour  to  stimulate  our  countrymen  to  surpass  us. 

The  man  who  could  rouse  this  nation  from  the  indolence  and 
lethargy  of  peace,  and  spur  them  on  to  put  forth  all  their  powers, 
would  deserve  a  place  in  the  bulletin  of  to-morrow. 

Tell  me  that  you  do  not  take  these  personalities  amiss,  and  tell  me 
that  you  take  me  at  my  word. 

*  #  #  *  #  * 

Our  love  to  you  all. 

WM.  WIRT. 


CHAPTER   XIX. 
1811. 

THE  OLD  BACHELOR. — CONTRIBUTORS  TO  IT. — CHARACTER  OF   THE 

WORK. AMUSING    CORRESPONDENCE   BETWEEN  WIRT  AND  CARR 

IN  REFERENCE  TO  IT. CARRES  PROMOTION  TO  THE  BENCH. THE 

POST  OF  ATTORNEY-GENERAL  VACANT. WIRT  SPOKEN  OF. HIS 

THOUGHTS  UPON    IT. LETTER    TO    HIS   DAUGHTER. EMPLOYED 

BY  MR.  JEFFERSON   IN    THE   BATTURE   CASE. CORRESPONDENCE 

WITH  MR.  J.  IN  REFERENCE  TO  DUANE. — MR.  MADISON  AND  MR. 
GALLATIN. 

THE  letters  given  in  the  last  chapter,  have  reference  to  the  publi 
cation  of  "  The  Old  Bachelor."  The  essays,  under  this  title,  were 
commenced  in  November,  1810,  and  were  continued  during  the 
greater  part  of  the  succeeding  year.  We  have  had  frequent  occasion 
to  notice  the  strong  inclination  of  Wirt's  mind  for  literary  enterprise. 
The  hope  of  achieving  something  honourable  to  himself  in  this  way, 
his  letters  show  us,  was  the  prevailing  fancy  of  his  meditations,  and 
his  pleasantest  dream  of  the  future.  Exercise  in  literary  composition, 
we  have  remarked  also,  was  a  prominent  observance  in  his  scheme  of 
self-discipline  and  study.  The  Rainbow,  which,  the  reader  may  re 
member,  had  employed  his  leisure  a  few  years  ago,  was  more  recently 
succeeded  by  an  enterprise  of  the  same  kind,  —  the  publication  of 
some  essays,  under  the  title  of  "The  Sylph/'  of  which  but  a  few 
numbers  had  seen  the  light,  before  they  were  abandoned  for  the  bet 
ter-considered  and  more  mature  scheme  of  the  Old  Bachelor.  The 
Old  Bachelor  reached  thirty-three  numbers.  It  is  a  series  of  didactic 
and  ethical  essays,  put  together  somewhat  after  the  model  of  the  Spec 
tator,  and  other  works  of  that  class,  which  once  obtained  such  attrac 
tive  popularity  in  English  literature.  It  is  not  too  much  to  say  of 
these  essays,  that  they  may  be  compared,  without  disparagement,  with 
the  best  of  those  of  Addison  and  Steele.  The  Old  Bachelor  was 
originally  published  in  the  Enquirer.  These  papers  were  afterwards 

VOL.  I.  —  23  (265) 


266  THE  OLD  BACHELOR.  [1811. 

collected  in  two  volumes,  in  which  shape  they  reached  a  third  edition, 
and  are  now  eminently  deserving  of  republication,  as  a  most  instruc 
tive  and  agreeable  production  of  American  literature. 

In  this  enterprise,  Wirt  was  assisted  by  several  gentlemen  of  Vir 
ginia,  amongst  whom  he  seems  to  have  turned,  with  the  surest  expec 
tation  of  valuable  aid,  to  his  friend  and  comrade,  Carr. 

In  the  dramatis  personse  of  the  Old  Bachelor,  the  chief  part  is 
borne  by  Dr.  Cecil,  which  was  sustained,  exclusively,  by  the  pen  of 
Wirt,  himself,  and  engrosses  much  the  largest  share  of  these  volumes. 
A  letter  from  Squaretoes,  in  the  ninth  number,  I  believe,  is  all  that 
was  contributed  by  Carr.  Galen  and  Alfred  were  consigned  to  two 
young  friends,  Dr.  Frank  Carr,  of  Albemarle,  and  Richard  E.  Parker, 
a  gentleman,  who  was  subsequently  a  member  of  the  Senate  of  the 
United  States.  Melmoth  was  furnished  by  Dr.  Girardin,  of  Rich 
mond,  the  author  of  a  valuable  history  of  Virginia.  There  were 
some  other  contributions  supplied  by  Judge  Tucker,  David  Watson, 
of  Louisa,  and  Mr.  George  Tucker,  who  has,  since  that  period,  at 
tained  to  high  distinction,  as  a  professor  of  moral  philosophy  in  the 
University  of  Virginia,  and  as  the  author  of  the  biography  of  Mr. 
Jefferson  and  other  works  of  approved  value,  which  have  brought  him 
to  the  acquaintance  and  esteem  of  a  large  number  of  readers  through 
out  the  Union.  There  may  have  been  other  contributors  to  the  Old 
Bachelor,  whose  names  have  escaped  me. 

Without  underrating  the  papers  which  have  been  supplied  by  the 
coadjutors  in  the  enterprise,  we  may  say  of  those  from  the  pen  of 
Wirt,  that  they  give  the  principal  attraction  to  the  book.  They  are, 
undoubtedly,  the  best  of  all  his  literary  compositions;  and,  in  the 
perusal  of  them  we  are  constantly  led  to  repeat  our  regrets,  that  one 
so  endowed  with  the  most  valuable  and,  at  the  same  time,  pleasant 
gifts  of  authorship,  had  not  been  favoured  by  fortune,  with  more 
leisure  and  opportunity  for  the  cultivation  and  employment  of  a  talent 
so  auspicious  to  his  own  fame,  and  so  well  adapted  to  benefit  his 
country. 

We  have  remarked  of  Wirt  that  his  life  is  peculiarly  fraught  with 
materials  for  the  edification  of  youth.  His  career  is  full  of  whole- 
nome  teaching  to  the  young  votary  who  strives  for  the  renown  of  an 
honourable  ambition.  Its  difficulties  and  impediments,  its  tempta- 


CHAP.  XIX.]  THE  OLD  BACHELOR.  267 

tions  and  trials,  its  triumphs  over  many  obstacles,  its  rewards,  both  in 
the  self-approving  judgment  of  his  own  heart,  and  in  the  success  won 
by  patient  labour  and  well-directed  study ;  and  the  final  consumma 
tion  of  his  hopes,  in  an  old  age  not  less  adorned  by  the  applause  of 
good  men,  than  by  the  serene  and  cheerful  temper  inspired  by  a 
devout  Christian  faith ; — all  these  present  a  type  of  human  progress 
worthy  of  the  imitation  of  the  young  and  gifted,  in  which  they  may 
find  the  most  powerful  incentives  towards  the  accomplishment  of  the 
noblest  ends  of  a  generous  love  of  fame." 

We  may  discern  in  every  studied  literary  effort  of  his  a  strong 
inclination  to  address  himself  more  to  the  rising  generation  than  to 
that  which  is  passing  away.  His  letters  are  full  of  this  purpose. 
His  many  visions  of  future  ease  and  enjoyment  all  seem  to  derive 
their  attraction  from  the  contemplation  of  the  good  he  might  confer 
in  directing  the  education  and  pursuits  of  ingenuous  and  talented 
youth.  The  Old  Bachelor  is  emphatically  the  realization  of  some 
such  hope,  long  vaguely  entertained,  but  now  furnished  with  the 
means  and  occasion  for  utterance.  It  is  a  precious  book  for  the 
young  American  reader :  it  deals  in  topics  to  excite  his  national  pride 
and  emulation :  it  points  out  his  road  to  duty  and  renown  with  a  deli 
cate  and  discriminating  skill ;  and  beguiles  him  to  the  cultivation  of 
the  severest  virtues,  with  a  charm  so  potent  as  almost  to  convert  the 
rugged  and  laborious  track  of  discipline  into  a  "primrose  path  of 
dalliance. " 

These  essays  have  a  peculiar  merit  from  being  the  rapid  and  simple 
effusions  of  the  mind  of  the  author,  thrown  off  with  unaffected  negli 
gence,  and  frequently  even  without  revision.  They  seem  to  have 
been,  often,  the  unstudied  suggestions  of  moments  snatched  from  pro 
fessional  duty,  and  to  have  been  committed  to  the  press  whilst  yet 
glowing  with  the  first  ardour  of  composition.  Occasionally  we  have 
an  essay  of  the  highest  finish,  and  full  of  the  impassioned  eloquence 
of  the  writer ;  but  we  recognize,  in  the  greater  part  of  these  papers, 
the  reflex  of  a  mind  delighted  with  its  task  as  a  pastime,  and  flinging 
abroad  its  thoughts,  like  the  involuntary  transpirations  of  a  healthy 
body,  without  a  consciousness  of  effort  or  labour.  Wirt's  style  has 
often  been  reproved,  by  judicious  critics,  for  its  profusion  of  ornament 
and  too  gorgeous  display  of  rhetorical  costume.  His  imagination  has 


268  THE  OLD  BACHELOR.  [1811. 

been  charged  with  too  often  taking  the  reins  from  his  judgment. 
The  ardour  of  his  temperament,  we  must  admit,  not  unfrequently  has 
infused  into  his  writings  a  glow  which  might  be  reduced  in  tone 
without  impairing  the  strength  of  his  style, — indeed,  even  adding  to 
its  vigour,  and  imparting  to  it  a  more  classic  severity.  But  the  reader 
of  the  Old  Bachelor  will  find  these  essays  less  open  to  that  objection 
than,  perhaps,  any  other  of  Wirt's  compositions.  They  seem  to  be 
all  the  better  for  the  unstudied  haste  in  which  they  have  been  written. 
The  young  writer  is  often  told,  by  way  of  precept  in  his  art,  to  erase 
from  his  manuscript  whatever  passage  has  struck  him  in  the  composi 
tion  as  being  particularly  fine :  Always  suspect  yourself  when  you 
perpetrate  what  you  think  fine  writing ;  good  taste  is  apt  to  revolt  at 
the  effort  to  produce  what  is  called  effect.  The  essays  of  Dr.  Cecil 
furnish  but  few  occasions  for  the  application  of  this  precept. 

In  the  correspondence  which  now  follows,  the  reader  will  peruse, 
with  no  little  pleasure,  the  letters  between  the  two  friends  who  have 
been  so  frequently  introduced  into  these  pages.  Wirkand  Carr  are 
here  in  communion,  chiefly  upon  the  topics  of  the  Old  Bachelor,  and 
the  impressions  these  essays  were  making  upon  the  public.  The 
correspondence,  also,  touches  another  subject  in  which  the  friendship 
of  one  writer  and  the  modesty  of  the  other  are  most  agreeably  illus 
trated.  Some  vacancies  were  about  to  take  place  in  the  arrangement 
of  the  Judiciary  of  the  State,  and  Wirt  was  affectionately  solicitous 
that  his  worthy  friend  should  accept  of  an  appointment  to  the  Bench, 
which  was  likely  to  be  offered  to  him.  The  letters  will  show,  in  a 
most  attractive  point  of  view,  the  disinterested  and  anxious  regard 
with  which  Wirt  pressed  the  acceptance,  and  the  amiable  self-distrust 
and  diffidence  with  which  Carr  received  the  appointment  when  it  was 
finally  conferred  upon  him.  Without  further  comment  upon  these 
pleasant  passages  between  two  excellent  men,  I  submit  to  my  readers 
these  letters,  partially  abridged, — asking  those  who  peruse  them  to 
keep  in  mind  that  they  belong  to  a  private,  confidential  correspondence, 
held  at  a  time  when  the  writers  exulted  in  all  the  hopes  of  the  prime 
of  manhood,  and  spoke  to  each  other  in  the  playful  temper  of  friends 
who  had  no  secrets  in  their  companionship,  nor  motive  to  suppress 
the  expression  of  any,  the  wildest,  freak  of  the  glad  and  jovial  spirit 
which  presided  over  their  intimacy. 


CHAP.  XIX.]  LETTER  FROM  CARR.  260 

We  take  up  this  correspondence  with  an  extract  of  a  letter  from 
Oarr,  which  contains  an  amusing  account  of  a  visit  he  had  just  made 
to  Dunlora,  the  seat,  as  the  reader  is  aware,  of  his  brother,  Colonel 
Samuel  Carr,  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Charlottesville,  where  the  Old 
Bachelor  had  been  the  topic  of  conversation.  The  work  had,  at  this 
time,  reached  the  twelfth  or  thirteenth  number,  and  the  author  was 
still  unknown,  beyond  a  current  suspicion.  Carr  had  just  returned 
from  Richmond,  where  he  had  been  Wirt's  guest,  and  was,  therefore, 
supposed  to  know  all  about  the  book.  He  had  himself  also  written 
Squaretoes,  in  the  ninth  number,  which  the  company  at  Dunlora  had 
all  read. 

"  I  met  there,"  he  says  in  this  letter,  "  Peter  Minor  and  his  wife, 
Dabney  Minor  and  my  brother  Peter,  who  all  made  affectionate  inqui 
ries  after  you.  Very  soon,  the  conversation  turned  on  the  Old  Ba 
chelor.  They  seemed  to  think  I  must  know  all  about  it.  I  observed, 
gravely,  if  you  were  the  author,  you  kept  it  very  close,  for  you  denied 
it  to  your  best  friends.  'As  to  that/  said  Old  Straws,*  (  I  feel  as  cer 
tain  that  he  wrote  the  papers,  as  if  I  had  seen  him  at  it.'  I  remarked, 
that  if  you  did  indeed  write  them,  you  must  have  taken  very  little  time 
about  it,  for  that  I  was  with  you  almost  the  whole  time,  and  saw  no 
thing  of  it.  Peter  Minor  solved  this  doubt  by  saying,  that  he  sus 
pected  the  pieces  were  all  written,  for  many  numbers  ahead,  before 
any  were  published.  Here  my  brother  Peter  put  in  again  : — 'As  to 
Love-truth,  he  could  not  pretend  to  say ;  but  Squaretoes,  he  was  cer 
tain,  was  not  by  the  Old  Bachelor :  he  could  see  the  pen  of  George 
Tucker  in  every  line  of  it :  the  phrases  were  all  his,  particularly,  '  I 
scorn  your  words/  As  another  proof  that  it  was  not  by  the  Old  Ba 
chelor,  he  said,  '  There  was  a  warmth,  and  even  a  harshness,  in  the 
Bachelor's  reply,  in  the  next  number,  beyond  what  the  occasion  called 
for, — especially  in  his  remarks  on  the  Squaretoes  library.  For,'  he 
maintained,  '  there  was  not  even  a  shadow  of  disrespect  shown  to  the 
Bible  by  Obadiah :  he  was  only  enumerating  the  family  books ;  and, 
amongst  these,  he  gave  the  Bible  the  first  place,  and  Mrs.  Glass  the 
last/  All  this  was  nuts  to  me.  By-the-bye,  my  wife  is  convinced  as 
to  the  author  of  Squaretoes.  You  remember,  I  told  you  I  suspected 


*  A  jocular  designation,  it  seems,  of  Peter  Carr. 

23* 


270  LETTER  TO  CARR.  [1811. 

the  bed  of  justice,  held  by  Squaretoes  and  his  dame,  would  be  apt  to 
betray  me.  It  was  even  so.  This,  together  with  my  abuse  of  ridi 
cules,  which  she  has  often  heard  from  me  before,  satisfied  her.  Frank 
also  had  his  suspicions ;  but  my  brother  Peter  overruled  him,  with  a 
voice  of  authority." 


TO    DABNEY   CARR. 

RICHMOND,  February  10,  1811. 
MY  DEAR  FRIEND: 

Although  rather  tardy,  I  take  the  first  twenty  minutes  I  could  call 
my  own,  since  the  arrival  of  your  letters,  to  acknowledge  the  favour. 

I  enjoyed  very  highly  the  scene  at  Dunlora.  The  sage  guesses  of 
the  two  Peters,  and  the  twisting  of  your  mouth,  and  working  of  your 
eyebrows,  which  I  discerned  as  distinctly  as  if  I  had  been  gifted  with 
the  old  Domine's  deuteroscopy. 


The  Old  Bachelor,  you  perceive,  begins  to  show  the  effect  of  age. 
He  moves  slowly,  and  halts  most  horribly.  The  truth  is,  that  the 
Court  of  Chancery  has  begun,  and  the  old  fellow  cannot  be  expected, 
at  his  time  of  life,  to  carry  double.  Nothing  from  Parker  yet.  Is  n't 
Frank  ashamed  of  himself? 

The  vacation  of induced  me  to  take  an  unauthorized  liberty 

with  a  friend  of  mine,  so  far  as  to  talk  with  some  of  the  heads  of  the 
Lower  House ;  but  they  were  all  preoccupied,  or  seemed  "  to  smell 
the  business  with  a  sense  as  cold  as  is  a  dead  man's  nose ;"  and  as  I 
did  not  choose  to  commit  that  same  friend  on  an  uncertainty,  I  said 
no  more.  But  it  is  inconceivable  what  an  alarm  the  mere  suggestion 
of  such  a  rival  produced  among  the  candidates.  Upon  the  whole,  't  is 
all  well. 


We  are  well.     Cabell,  his  wife  and  Co.,  are  here.     Would  you 
were  with  us ! 

I  am  in  a  storm  of  children.     Our  love  to  you  and  yours. 
Dinner  is  just  ready 

WM.  WIRT. 


Carr  had  written  another  paper  for  the  Old  Bachelor, — a  letter  from 
Grace  Squaretoes.  He  had  no  recognition  of  it  from  his  friend,  and 
had  not  yet  received  the  short  letter  of  the  10th,  which  we  have  just 
read. 


CHAP.  XIX.:  THE  OLD  BACHELOR.  271 

FROM  CARR  TO   WIRT. 

CHARLOTTESVILLE,  February  11,  1811. 
Mi  CARE  ERAS  : 

I  take  it,  you  are  a  man  of  your  word, — a  most  rare  example  of  a 
punctual  correspondent.  When  we  parted,  your  last  injunction,  en 
forced  by  a  cordial  shake  of  the  hand,  was,  "  write  often/ ' 

*  *  *  *  *  * 
Nearly  four  weeks  gone  by,  and  not  one  line  from  you !     No,  not 

a  word  !  Reflecting  on  this  matter,  I  have  supposed  it  possible  that 
your  silence  has  been  caused  by  that  same  letter  of  Grace's.  It  was 
a  hasty  indiscretion,  overlooked  but  once,  and  instantly  closed  and 
sent  off.  I  have  no  doubt  it  is  a  poor  thing.  Now,  I  have  thought 
it  possible  that,  not  finding  it  to  your  purpose,  you  have  felt  reluctant 
to  tell  me  so,  and  seeing  that  you  could  not  well  write  without  saying 
something  about  it,  you  have  been  silent.  If  this  should  be  the  case, 
as  I  do  not,  in  fact,  believe,  it  would  really  mortify  me, — not  that 
the  piece  was  rejected,  but  that  you  should  have  any  difficulty  in 
telling  me  so.  *  *  Could  you  think  so 

poorly  of  me  as  to  suppose,  for  a  moment,  I  could  not  bear  the  rejec 
tion  of  a  bagatelle  of  mine? 

*  #  *  *  *  * 

I  have  ventured  to  let  Old  Straws  into  the  secret.  I  thought  it 
best ;  for,  not  being  trusted,  he  felt  no  restraint  and  asserted  as  con 
fidently  that  you  were  the  author,  as  if  he  had  had  the  most  positive 
information.  I  was  in  hopes,  too,  he  would  contribute ;  and  he  has, 
indeed,  promised  me  that  he  would  try  his  hand. 

******* 

Frank  is  still  recreant,  but  he  promises  still.    *  * 

TO    DABNEY   CARR. 

RICHMOND,  February  15,  1811. 
MY  DEAR  DABNEY  : 

I  have  received  your  rebuke  of  the  llth  inst.,  and  would  plead 
guilty  to  it  if  I  had  not  written  you,  at  least,  one  short  letter,  last 
Monday,  and  had  not  been  so  constantly  occupied  by  the  Court  of 
Chancery  and  by  company,  as  to  leave  me  no  time  for  any  thing  else. 

Of  the  constancy  as  well  as  the  importunity  of  these  engagements, 
you  will  be  able  to  form  a  proper  estimate,  when  you  discover  that  I 
have  not  been  able,  this  week,  to  take  even  a  short  airing  on  my 
hobby,  the  Old  Bachelor. 

I  acknowledge  your  goodness  in  having  given  me  three  excellent 
letters  since  your  departure.  Of  that  which  describes  the  Dunlora 


272  CORRESPONDENCE  WITH  CARR.  [1811. 

scene,  I  have  already  written.  It  was  a  good  one.  I  entirely  ap 
prove  of  your  communication,  since,  to  our  brother  Peter.  Indeed 
secrecy,  though  I  feel  its  importance  now  more  than  ever,  seems  to  be 
impossible.  Joe  Cabell,  to  whom  Read  imparted  it  through  mistake, 
told  me,  when  I  enjoined  secrecy  upon  him,  that  I  resembled  the 
ostrich,  hiding  his  head  while  his  whole  body  was  exposed  to  the 
world. 

•K-  *  *  #•  %  •* 

Miss  Grace  is,  I  think,  a  lass  of  grace.  But  I  will  take  the  liberty 
of  telling  you,  that  I  have  seen  you  in  moments  of  happier  inspiration, 
when  you  could  have  made  more  of  the  damsel  than  you  have  done. 
When  I  wrote  you  on  Sunday,  I  had  determined  to  give  her  to  the 
world,  without  touching  one  thread  of  her  dress ;  but  I  think  now,  I 
will  make  free  enough  to  alter  a  little  the  set  of  her  cap  and  fixture 
of  her  tucker.  No,  sir,  I  have  no  more  fear  of  offending  or  wounding 
you,  by  changing  or  rejecting  one  of  jour  essays,  than  if  it  were  one 
of  my  own ;  and,  as  I  have  taken  both  these  liberties  with  several  of 
mine,  so  will  I  take  them  with  yours,  as  often  as  there  shall,  in  my 
opinion,  be  occasion. 

I  beg  you  to  continue  the  use  of  your  stimulants  to  our  brother 
Peter.  He  is  a  fellow  of  such  various  and  ample  reading,  and  of  such 
just  and  copious  thought  and  splendid  diction,  that  I  should  think  it 
impossible  for  any  thing  to  fall  from  his  pen,  but  what  would  do  credit 
to  the  Old  Bachelor.  I  should  think  he  would  shine  in  the  depart 
ment  of  criticism  and  of  fancy.  Cannot  he  give  us  an  oriental  or  oc 
cidental  tale,  or  an  allegory,  or  any  thing  of  that,  or  any  other  sort  ? 
The  epistolary  style  would,  perhaps,  put  him  more  at  his  ease ;  and, 
it  would  cost  him  very  little  effort,  I  should  think,  to  address  a  letter 
to  Doctor  C . 

What  you  tell  me  of  the  increasing  fame  of  the  Old  Bachelor,  is 
calculated,  in  some  degree,  to  dispel  the  lassitude  that  is  beginning  to 
creep  upon  me  in  relation  to  the  old  fellow. 

I  very  frankly  confess  to  you,  (though  I  would  not  do  it  to  every 
body,)  that  I  am  tired  of  the  project,  even  before  I  have  reached  the 
principal  subject,  education.  But,  besides  this,  our  courts  are  now 
made  perpetual,  and  the  Old  Bachelor  is  rather  in  the  way  of  my 
business.  I  do  not  mean,  by  this,  that  I  have  resolved  to  drop  him 
altogether;  but,  that  he  will  see  the  light  much  more  rarely  than 
heretofore. 

I  am  only  able  to  attend  to  him  of  nights;  and  these,  besides  the 
calls  of  the  law,  are  very  much  at  the  mercy  of  visitors.  To  this  lat 
ter  cause  it  is,  in  a  great  degree,  owing  that  there  is  no  number  this 
week. 

Frank  is  a  dastardly  fellow.     I  had  thought  him  a  Corinthian  — 

a  lad  of  metal, — but  I  now  discover  that  he  is no  better  than  he 

should  be.     Parker  has  not  given  me  a  single  line. 


CHAP.  XIX.]  THE  OLD  BACHELOR.  273 

I  have  no  more  time  to  write  now ;  and  all  this  being  about  the  Old 
Bachelor,  does  not  look  much  as  if  I  was  tired  of  it. 
Our  love  to  you;  and  Mrs.  C.,  and  children. 

WM.  WIRT. 


Mr  DEAR  FRIEND  : 


FROM   CARR  TO   WIRT. 

CHARLOTTESVILLE,  February  18,  1811. 


With  respect  to  that  rebuke  of  mine,  as  you  call  it,  you  know  I 
only  meant  to  show  you  that  I  was  very  anxious  to  hear  from  you ; 
and,  whenever  I  give  you  cause,  or  you  take  it  into  your  head  that  I 
do,  you  shall  abuse  me  in  turn,  and  I  will  say,  '  you  are  welcome, 
brother  Shandy,  if  it  were  fifty  times  as  much.' 

Poor  Grace !  I  certainly  used  her  scurvily.  My  excuse  is,  that 
she  was  done  up  in  too  great  a  hurry.  Alter  not  only  her  cap  and 
tucker,  but — asking  her  pardon — you  may  strip  her  altogether,  if  you 
like,  and  dress  her  to  your  mind.  I  fear,  however,  that  the  story  my 
old  master,  Maury,  used  to  tell  his  pupils  a  hundred  times,  of  Pope 
and  the  link-boy,  will  be  applicable  to  her.  You  knew  the  old  gen 
tleman.  He  doated  on  a  good  story.  It  was  our  practice  to  urite  a 
Latin  exercise  on  a  slate,  and  take  it  to  him  of  a  morning  If  there 
was  any  false  Latin,  he  marked  it  with  a  pencil,  and  we  had  to  mend 
it.  When  it  was  very  bad,  he  sometimes  rubbed  out  the  whole. 
Then  came  the  old  story :  ( Did  you  ever  hear  the  story  of  Pope  and 
the  link-boy  ? ' 

I  No,  sir/ 

I 1  '11  tell  it  to  you.     Pope,  the  poet,  was  a  homely  little  fellow, 
somewhat  deformed.     When  any  thing  surprised  him,  or  happened 
suddenly,  he  had  a  way  of  crying  out,  l  God  mend  me  ! '     One  night, 
as  he  was  walking  the  street,  he  called  a  link-boy — a  shabby-looking 
dog — to  light  him  on  his  way.     Presently  he  stumbled,  and  falling, 
cried  out,  '  God  mend  me  ! '     l  Lord,  sir ! ' —  says  the  boy — '  mend 
you  ?     He  'd  better  undertake  to  make  two  new  ones/ 

The  good  old  man  was  so  pleased  with  the  wit  of  the  story,  that 
the  boys  generally  got  off  without  further  scolding. 

******* 

Frank  is,  as  you  say,  a  terrible  rascal.  I  tell  him  so,  and  abuse 
him  shockingly.  He  is  about  it,  and  about  it;  but  when  he  will  be 
done,  nobody  knows. 

8 


274  CORRESPONDENCE  WITH  CARR.  [1811. 

TO    DABNEY  CARR. 

.  .    •••  '•.-•-•  v  ,"••> 

RICHMOND,  February  27, 1811. 
MY  DEAR  FRIEND  : 

I  snatch  a  morning  before  breakfast  to  thank  you  for  your  favour 
of  the  18th. 

******* 

You  must  excuse  the  tardiness  of  Miss  Grace's  appearance.  I  am 
reserving  her  till  I  have  leisure  to  play  the  dressing-maid  to  her.  But 
do  not  be  alarmed  for  her  native  graces, — I  shall  do  very  little,  and 
that  little  will  not  affect  the  simplicity  of  her  appearance.  I  shall 
bring  her  out  on  a  holiday,  and  make  "the  town-bred  fair"  blush  at 
her  superiority. 

I  have  several  correspondents  on  my  hands,  (I  mean  in  my  charac 
ter  of  the  Old  Bachelor,)  who  embarrass  me  not  a  little.  One  of 
them,  entre  nous,  is .  But  I  am  obliged  to  strangle  his  off 
spring  in  the  birth,  as  monstrous  :  and  monstrous  you  will  think  them, 

when  you  learn  that  they  are  to  be  rejected,  while is  to  be 

chosen.  By-the-bye,  we  were  too  hasty  in  giving  that  promise ;  for  I 
shall  have  so  much  ado  to  mend  him,  that  I  am,  in  relation  to  him, 
exactly  within  the  rule  of  Pope's  link-boy. 

Yes,  poor  old  Parson .  I  well  know  how  he  could  tell  the 

same  story  with  unabated  pleasure.  D'ye  mind — as  the  Scotch-Irish 
say,  over  the  Ridge — the  way  he  had  of  reciting  Horace's  Odes ;  ask 
ing  you,  in  a  conversational  voice,  rather  piano  and  in  alto,  if  you 
remembered  that  beautiful  ode  beginning,  "  Stet  alta  nive  candidum 
Soracte,"  and,  at  the  reciting  part,  dropping  abruptly  into  the  pulpit 
dirge  ?  Well,  he  was  a  good  old  fellow,  and  I  remember  him  with 
even  more  esteem  and  affection  than  I  was  conscious  of  feeling  for  him 
when  living. 

*  -5f  -5f  -X-  *•  * 

I  have  another  piece  from  G.,  rather  better  than  the  former.  I 
have  several,  too,  from  G.  T.,  two  of  which  you  will  see  in  number 
fifteen — the  letters  from  Vamper  and  Schryphel.  All  the  rest  of  the 
number  is  Cecil's.  To  take  the  point  of  the  concluding  paragraph  of 
O'Flannagan's  letter,  you  must  read  the  close  of  Blackburn's  adver 
tisement  in  the  last  Enquirer.  He  is  the  mathematical  professor  at 
William  and  Mary  College ;  a  capital  mathematician,  but  one  of  the 
most  imprudent  of  Irishmen, — which  is  saying  a  bould  word. 
#  -*  #  *  *  * 

I  have  received,  from  various  quarters,  the  most  encouraging  evi 
dences  of  the  success  of  the  Old  Bachelor.  Doctor  Hare,  (who,  I 
hope,  as  he  and  all  his  old  friends  do,  has  been  brought  back  to  life 
and  his  old  constitution,  by  his  late  salivation, — having  every  evidence 
of  health  except  flesh  and  strength,  which  he  is  fast  recovering, — and 


CHAP.  XIX.]  THE  JUDGESHIP.  275 

who  desires  to  be  most  affectionately  remembered  to  you,)  Dr.  Hare, 
J  say,  (Blair  !)  writes  me  that  L.  C.  is  enraptured  with  the  Old  Ba 
chelor.  They  concur  in  thinking  it  will  be  of  great  service.  Tucker 
writes  that  it  is  doing  good  to  the  country,  and  honour  to  its  author. 
Judge  Nelson  calls  it  a  most  noble  and  honourable  enterprise. 
*  *  These  things,  and  many  more  which  I  hear,  (such 

as  that  the  subscribers  to  the  Enquirer  have  very  much  increased,  in 
consequence  of  it,)  not  only  encourage  me  to  go  on,  but  enforce  your 
sentiment  that  it  is  a  duty ;  and  on  I  shall  go,  as  fast  and  as  well  as 
I  can,  for  my  professional  engagements.  In  the  meantime,  you,  who 
live  in  the  country,  must  watch  and  tell  me  when  my  readers  are  get 
ting  tired,  and  when  they  censure  either  the  matter  or  the  manner. 
*  *  *  *  *  * 

Frank  is  a  scurvy  rascal ;  and  if  he  does  not  make  haste,  I  will 
impale  him  in  the  face  of  that  public  to  whom  I  have  extolled  him. 
After  seeing  what  light  things  we  occasionally  publish,  why  should  the 
rascal  be  holding  his  head  so  high  ?  His  head,  did  I  say  ?  "  He  haa 
a  head,  and  so  has  a  pin."  Let  him  take  that,  and  put  it  in  his  pocket. 

What  from  Don  Pedro  ? 

*  *  *  *  *  * 

I  am — why  need  I  tell  you  what  ? 

WM.  WIRT. 

TO  DABNEY  CARR. 

RICHMOND,  March  8,  1811 
MY  DEAR  FRIEND: 

Our  friend  Kinney  has  long  since  informed  you,  in  detail,  wlierefore 
(as  our  Chancellor  says)  we  acted  as  we  did  in  relation  to  you  last 
winter :  i.  e.,  why  we  did  not  act  at  all.  The  judicial  vacancy  on 
which  we  had  our  eye,  not  having  been  created,  there  was  an  end  of 
that  project.  Another  has  now  occurred.  James  Pleasants  has  re 
signed  the  office  of  Judge  of  the  Court  of  Appeals,  and  Tucker  (this 
is,  for  the  present,  a  profound  secret  which  everybody  knows)  will 
resign  in  the  course  of  the  month.  This  creates  two  vacancies  in  the 
Court  of  Appeals. — Don't  be  alarmed; — it  is  not  that  court  I  am 
thinking  of  for  you  now. — But  those  two  vacancies,  so  as  aforesaid 
created  and  to  le  created,  must  be  filled,  and,  it  is  pretty  well  ascer 
tained,  will  be  filled  by  Stuart  and  Cabell.  To  Stuart's  circuit,  I 
suppose  Coalter  will  fall  heir ;  and  I  presume  you  would  not  have 
Coalter's  :  but  what  say  you  to  CabelFs  ?  He  says  it  is  a  most  de 
lightful  circuit.  It  includes  Powhatan, — in  the  which  county,  in  the 
vicinity  of  Pleasants  and  Pope,  you  might  easily  locate  yourself  upon 
a  little  farm,  and  live  in  primeval  innocence  and  happiness. 

I  know  it  is  a  heart-string-snapping  sort  of  business,  to  quit  Chai- 
lottesville  and  its  purlieus.  Would  it  then  be  possible  for  you  so  to 


276  CORRESPONDENCE  WITH  CARR.  [1811. 

arrange  with  Coalter  as  to  keep  the  Charlottesville  district?     These 
things  you  must  think  of,  and  arrange  as  you  can. 

#•  •*  #•  #•  #•  * 

There  is  no  division  of  opinion  among  your  friends  here,  that  you 
ought  to  accept,  if  it  shall  be  tendered,  an  appointment  by  the  Coun 
cil;  because,  examining  the  subject  with  all  possible  calmness,  we 
have  no  doubt  of  your  confirmation  by  the  Legislature ;  and  of  your 
appointment  by  the  Council  I  have  very  little  fear.  There  is  Hare — 
(who  is  almost  well,  and  who  will  be  here  by  the  time  the  appoint 
ment  is  made;)  —  well,  there  is  Hare,  Read,  Wardlow,  Randolph, 
Doctor  Jones,  who,  I  think,  will  certainly  vote  for  you.  Then  you 
have  an  equal  chance  for  the  rest,  who  are  Colonel  Smith,  (Greo.  W.) 
Minis  and  Mallory  :  thus  you  see  your  chances.  Will  you  come  in, 
or  will  you  not  ?  You  see,  if  you  are  elected,  that  is,  appointed  by 
the  Council,  there  will  be  no  occasion  for  your  removal,  or  making 
any  other  arrangements,  until  we  see  whether  you  shall  be  confirmed 
by  the  Assembly ;  and  if  you  should  not,  I  suppose  it  will  neither 
break  your  leg  nor  pick  your  purse  materially.  But  should  you  be 
confirmed, — of  which,  I  repeat  it,  there  is  no  reasonable  ground  to 
doubt, — why,  then,  sir,  you  are  an  honourable  for  life ;  in  a  fair  way 
to  the  highest  honours  of  your  profession ;  and,  in  fact,  advanced  to 
within  a  few  jumps  of  the  goal. 

I  pray  you,  weigh  this  matter,  and  be  prepared  to  decide  it,  if  you 
shall  be  called  upon.  I  suppose  we  shall  know  the  whole  result  before 
this  month  is  out,  or  very  early  in  the  next. 

I  am  in  a  great  hurry ;  and  so,  with  our  love  to  Mrs.  Carr,  yourself 
and  children, 

I  am,  as  ever, 

Your  friend, 

WM.  WIRT. 

TO    DABNEY   CARR. 

March  10,  1811. 
*  #  #  #  #  # 

By-the-bye,  let  me  boast  a  little  :  yet  I  am  more  ashamed  of  show 
ing  vanity  before  you  than  any  other  man  in  the  world.  I  persuade 
myself,  however,  that  the  pleasure  which  a  man  feels  at  the  approba 
tion  of  the  great  and  good  is  laudable,  and  scarcely  deserves  so  degrad 
ing  a  name  as  vanity.  If  this  point  is  settled  in  my  favour,  then  I 
will  tell  you  that  R.,  who  is  just  from  Washington,  says  that  the  Old 
Bachelor  has  great  eclat  at  head-quarters ;  that  Mr.  Madison  had  said, 
sir,  (so  I  desire  that  you  will  pay  proper  respect  to  me,  hereafter,) 
that  he  thought  Mr.  W.'fl  pen,  at  least,  ought  to  redeem  us  from  the 
censures  of  the  Edinburgh  Reviewers ;  that  there  was  a  chastity,  an 
elegance,  and  a  something  else,  which  R.  could  not  remember,  in  his 


CHAP.  XIX.]  THE  JUDGESHIP.  277 

style,  which  charmed  him.  Now,  sir,  if  R.  did  not  invent  this,  quod 
non  constat,  it  is  a  compliment.  What  makes  me  most  dubious  of  it 
is,  that,  if  there  be  any  thing  bearable  in  my  style,  the  points  of  com 
pliment  which  R.  imputes  to  Mr.  M.  are  not  exactly  those  I  should 
have  expected.  Chastity  is  the  character  of  Mr.  M/s  own  style;  as 
to  mine,  I  have  thought  it  about  as  chaste  as  Cleopatra  in  her  attire. 
But  enough,  and  too  much,  of  me  and  my  brats. 

I  conversed  with  Nicholas,  yesterday,  de  loco  vacuo  judicis.  He 
thinks  it  as  plain  as  a  pike-staff  in  our  favour. 

I  have  very  little  doubt  of  it,  and  advise  you  to  hold  yourself  ready, 
sub  rosa,  to  take  a  circuit  on  the  first  of  April ;  for  it  will  be,  perhaps, 
a  sudden  thing. 

About  a  place  of  residence,  in  case  of  your  appointment, — you  will 
see,  by  the  range  of  Cabell's  circuit,  that  it  offers  a  variety,  for  it  takes 
in  Amelia,  the  neighbourhood  of  Giles,  Eppes,  and  the  Tabbs,  besides 
Powhatan  and  Manchester. 

In  the  latter  place  and  its  neighbourhood,  there  are  a  variety  of 
beautiful  tenements,  and  lots  of  from  twelve  to  twenty  acres,  where 
you  might  raise  a  profusion  of  clover  for  your  horses  and  cows ;  enjoy 
the  fine  prospect  of  Richmond,  its  Capitol,  and  picturesque  hills  and 
valleys,  together  with  the  whole  ambit  of  James  River,  its  falls  and 
port }  besides  the  power  of  our  being  with  each  other  as  long  and  as 

often  as  we  please.  What  say  you  to  this  ?  And  when  old  H 

dies — think  of  that,  Master  Brooke  ! — Q — E — D, — as  Warden  told 
the  Court  of  Appeals.  Now,  d'ye  see,  Judge  Carr,  I  think  this  a 
most  capital  plan.  By  my  conscience,  as  the  Bishop  says,  (for  I  love 
to  quote  my  authority  always,)  I  think  Judge  Carr  has  a  most  origi 
nal,  and,  as  it  were,  melodious  sort  of  a  sound. 

To  think  what  we  are  all  to  come  to !  Well,  happy  man  be  his 
dole,  say  I ! — And  that,  of  all  the  Carrs,  the  honour  should  light  upon 
my  old  Louisa  and  Fluvanna  comrade,  with  his  grumbling  and  blue 
devils  !  Well,  it  is  a  long  lane  that  has  no  turn,  and  an  ill  wind  that 
blows  nobody  luck, — also,  throw  a  crust  of  bread,  &c., — together  with 
forty  other  proverbs  that  Sancho  would  pour  forth  on  a  like  occasion. 

If  W.  H.  Cabell  is  elected,  he  will  immediately  come  here  to  live. 
I  think  his  brother  Joe  will  come  here  too ;  and  if  you  come  to  Man 
chester, — only  think,  with  the  aid  of  Davy,  and  Clarke  and  /,  and 
occasional  visits  from  our  upland  friends,  what  a  society  we  may  form ! 
Shall  we  not  find  the  foot-hold  that  Archimedes  wished  for  in  vain, 
and  turn  the  world  upside-down,  —  I  mean  the  moral  and  literary 
world  ?  I  scarce  think  we  could  turn  up  a  worse  side ;  it  is  the  deuce 
of  clubs,  or  at  least,  the  curse  of  Scotland.  My  spirits  are  in  such  a 
jig  at  this  prospect,  that  I  can  scarcely  hold  my  pen  to  write  intelli 
gibly  ;  and  at  such  a  time,  and  on  such  an  occasion^  I  scorn  to  write 
anything  but  nonsense. 

For  fear,  however,  of  false  inferences,  you  will  please  to  be  informed 

VOL.  I.— 24 


2T8  CORRESPONDENCE  WITH  CARR.  11811. 

that  it  is  the  forenoon,  and  I  am  just  from  church.     So,  sir,  I  scorn 
your  suspicions. 

Cabell  went  up  home  this  morning.  I  wrote  to  Hare,  and  gave 
him  your  postscript,  verbatim  et  literatim.  You  know  it  is  about 
binding  him,  hand  and  foot,  and  deporting  him,  if  he  will  not  keep 
away  from  Richmond.  Whereupon,  I  observed,  that  I  believed  you 
never  would  forgive  him  if  he  should  even  go  so  far  as  to  come  down 
only  for  a  day  or  two  to  vote  for  you.  I  gave  him  to  understand, 
indeed,  that  your  appointment  would  probably  depend  upon  it,  but 
that  he  was  not  to  mind  that. 

Now,  are  you  not  ashamed  of  that  selfish  twinge  which  leads  you 
to  wish  that  Hare  would,  at  least,  trust  himself  here  until  he  could 
give  his  vote  ? — So  you  would  endanger  his  health  rather  than  not 
get  the  office  ! — 0  fie,  fie,  sir !  However,  believing  that  such  would 
be  your  wish,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  I  observed  to  him  that  I  thought 
you  would  not  be  implacable  for  a  short  trip  on  this  occasion ,  and  he 
will  certainly  come,  dead  or  alive. 

Love  to  all. 

Again  yours, 

WM.  WIRT. 

CARR  TO   WIRT. 

CHARLOTTESVILLE,  March  14,  1811. 
MY  DEAR  FRIEND  : 

I  dined  at  Monticello  yesterday,  and  did  not  return  home  until  a 
little  after  night.  My  children  were  put  to  bed;  my  wife  and  I 
sitting  quietly  by  our  happy  fireside — I  reading  to  her  Lady  Mon 
tague's  letters — when  suddenly  it  occurred  to  me  that  it  was  post 
day.  I  sent  a  servant  immediately  for  my  letters,  who,  returning, 
brought  me  yours  of  the  8th  and  10th. 

It  would  have  diverted  you,  not  a  little,  to  see  the  flurry  and  flutter 
into  which  this  threw  us.  It  was  the  first  time  that  the  idea  of  ele 
vation  to  the  Bench,  was  brought  distinctly  before  me.  I  had  viewed 
it  before  as  a  distant  possibility.  Your  letter  made  it,  at  least,  pro 
bable  that  it  would  be  offered  to  me,  and  that  very  soon.  I  cannot 
tell  you  what  a  feeling  this  produced ; — a  feeling  which  seems  to  in 
crease  as  I  think  of  it — something  like  a  timid  young  girl  on  the  eve 
of  marriage.  How  will  it  be  with  me  ?  Mounted  on  the  bench,  the 
officers  of  justice  planted  around,  court  opened,  the  bar  lined  with 
attorneys,  every  one  thronging  in  to  see  the  new  judge,  the  grand 
jury  sworn,  proclamation  made  that  his  Honour  is  about  to  charge 
them — then  the  stormy  wave  of  the  multitude  hushed  into  silence, 
and  every  eye  bent  upon  me.  What  a  tremour  the  idea  gives  me ! 
Yet  I  will  an. 


CHAP.  XIX.]  THE  JUDGESHIP.  279 

TO   DABNEY   CARR. 

RICHMOND,  March  23,  1811. 
MY  DEAR  FRIEND  : 

Cabell  is  elected  to  the  Court  of  Appeals,  and  your  election  is  in 
fallible.  Out  of  six  members  who  are  here,  it  is  ascertained  that 
there  are  four  who  are  for  you.  Hare,  Read,  Randolph  and  Ward- 
low  : — how  the  remaining  members  are  is  unknown ;  but  there  is  no 
probability  of  their  concurring  against  you  —  and,  if  they  do,  your 
friends  are  resolved  to  hold  the  Council  divided  rather  than  give  way. 
The  point,  it  is  supposed,  will  be  decided  on  Tuesday  next,  and  I  re 
gard  you  as  elected. 

Now,  sir,  I  hope  you  will  sit  down,  immediately  on  the  receipt  of 
this,  and  write  your  address  to  the  grand  jury. 

Take  care  of  your  modesty ;  that  is,  beware  lest  it  impair  the  energy 
and  dignity  of  the  judge.  Don't  go  and  be  overwhelmed  and  panic- 
struck,  as  I  was,  so  as  to  make  people  think  "  poor  fellow,  I  dare  say 
he  wishes  he  was  at  home  again/' 

You  know  that  I  am  not  such  a  simpleton  as  to  find  fault  with  that 
degree  of  modesty  which  unlocks  the  hearts  of  men,  women  and  chil 
dren,  to  a  man.  But  I  know  that  you  do  think,  and  ever  have,  for 
these  fifteen  years,  at  least,  thought  of  yourself  with  too  much  hu 
mility.  Now,  although  "  in  peace  there  's  nothing  so  becomes  a  man, 
as  modest  stillness  and  humility,  yet  when  the  blast  of  court  blows 
in  our  ears/'  and  sheriff's  o-yes  bids  the  jury  rise,  "then  stiffen  the 
sinews,  bend  the  muscles  up,  and  imitate  the  action  of" — Lord  Mans 
field. 

These  two  appointments  put  a  poultice  on  the  bruises  of  the  Legion 
and  Clarke.  "  0,  that  right  should  thus  overcome  might/' — as  the 
old  woman  says  in  the  play,  when  she  is  meaning  to  complain  of  the 
oppression  of  power. 

Sir,  you  are  to  make  a  great  man.  The  organization  of  your  mind 
qualifies  you  to  scale  the  heights  of  Mansfield  and  Hardwicke ;  and 
your  temper  and  manners  will  strew  flowers  on  the  path  of  your 
ascent. 

You  must  read  every  book  that  Mansfield  ever  read ;  they  are  all 
to  be  had,  and  your  leisure  will  now  enable  you  to  do  it.  Sir,  you 
shall  "  bestride  the  lazy-pacing  cloud,  and  sail  upon  the  bosom  of  the 
air,"  and  mark  "  the  white  up-turned  eyes  of  us  mortals  thax  fall  back 
to  gaze  on" — you. 

I  tell  you  again,  that  you  can,  and  must,  and  shall  stand  upon  the 
very  summit,  the  pinnacle,  the  apex  of  judicial  glory.  I  know  it — 1 
see  it — and  who  shall  say  me  nay  ? 

Your  circuit  will  bring  you  close  to  us.  Chesterfield  is  only  six 
teen  miles  from  us ;  Powhatan  but  thirty.  You  must  come  and  see 


280  CORRESPONDENCE  WITH  CARR.  [1811. 

us  between  terms ;  this,  you  know,  is  your  home — but  need  I  tell  you 
this? 

I  will  endeavour  to  get  from  Cabell,  a  statement  of  the  difficult 
questions  which  he  has  suspended  by  an  advisari  vult,  together  with 
his  authorities,  notes,  &c.;  and  meet  you,  with  them,  somewhere  upon 
your  circuit. 

Hare  and  myself  count  on  your  making  such  an  impression  through 
out  your  circuit  this  spring  and  fall,  that  "»zm*nor  divils"  cannot 
"stap  ye"  from  being  confirmed  next  winter. 

It  will  be  an  awkward  thing  for  you  not  to  know  the  bar,  and  as 
awkward  for  you  (a  judge)  to  carry  letters  of  introduction  to  the  law 
yers.  I  believe  the  best  plan  will  be  for  Cabell  to  send  a  letter  of 
introduction  to  some  one  prominent  member  of  each  bar,  introducing 
him  to  you,  and  begging  him  to  introduce  his  brethren  to  you,  and 
the  respectable  country  gentlemen  around  the  court-houses.  This  will 
answer  the  purpose  without  letting  you  down. 

#•  #•  -Jf  •*  #  #  # 

My  watch  informs  me  that  the  mail  has  closed.  I  will,  therefore, 
take  my  leisure,  and  write  a  little  more  legibly,  since  I  have  to  depend 
on  Frank  to  get  this  in  as  a  way-letter.  But  I  cannot  write  a  very 
long  letter,  because  I  have  to  finish  the  nineteenth  number  of  the  Old 
Bachelor  to-night. 

I  think  your  remark  on 's  letters  is  correct ;  the  irony  is  too 

delicate, — it  is  cold.  Yet,  the  pieces  have  played  the  deuce  with  the 
Old  Bachelor  here — they  are  said  to  be  personal  attacks;  and,  with 
the  co-operation  of  my  own  seventeenth  number,  have  subjected  me 
to  a  good  deal  of  ill-natured  remark,  as  if  I  were  lampooning  the  town. 
If  such  a  notion  as  this  were  once  to  get  on  foot,  all  the  benefits  in 
tended  by  the  publication  would  be  at  an  end.  And,  therefore,  I  sat 
down,  immediately,  and  wrote  the  eighteenth  number,  to  prevent  any 
such  pernicious  effects.  I  believe  it  has  answered  the  purpose.  But 
I  am  very  much  trammelled  by  this  impertinence  in  applying  cha 
racters.  It  is  much  the  liveliest  and  most  impressive  way  of  moral 
izing;  yet  I  never  draw  a  character  without  displeasing  somebody  or 
other.  If  it  is  wrong  to  draw  characters,  you  are  partly  in  fault,  for 
you  said  to  me,  not  long  before  you  left  me,  "you  must  begin,  pre 
sently,  to  draw  characters."  Why  should  not  I  ?  What  right  have 
the  rascals  to  find  fault  with  me,  if  a  vicious  character  fits  them  ?  As 
to  lampooning  or  throwing  stones  for  pure  mischief  and  wantonness, 
I  would  sooner  cut  off  my  right  hand.  But  if  it  is  necessary  to  the 
purposes  of  virtue,  if  it  is  the  most  interesting  mode  that  I  can  adopt 
to  expose  a  vice,  and  render  it  ridiculous  or  hateful,  why  "should  I 
not  do  it? 

******* 

You  see,  Ritchie  is  going  to  make  a  book  of  the  old  fellow.  I 
don't  much  like  this  way  of  becoming  an  author,  or  rather  of  being 


CHAP.  XIX.]  THE  OLD  BACHELOR.  281 

made  one  without  having  the  fear  of  it,  all  along,  before  my  eyes. 
Now,  most  certainly,  if  I  had  intended  to  sit  down"  and  write  a  book, 
and  become  a  downright  author,  I  should  have  chosen  a  subject  better 
calculated  to  put  me  up  in  the  ranks ;  one  calculated  to  exhibit  the 
whole  of  the  little  compass  and  strength  of  my  mind.  If  I  had  real 
ized  the  idea  that  my  good  name,  fame  and  reputation  were  at  stake, 
I  would  have  taken  care  to  write  to  the  best  advantage — in  rural  pri 
vacy,  for  instance,  and  only  in  the  happiest  moments  of  inspiration, 
after  having,  by  previous  meditation,  exhausted  upon  it  all  my  retail 
shop  of  thought.  Instead  of  this,  I  have  been  dribbling  on,  with  a 
loose  pen,  carelessly  and  without  any  labour  of  thinking,  amidst  inces 
sant  interruptions — and  with  the  printer's  devil  at  my  elbow,  every 
half-hour,  jogging  me  for  more  copy. 

It  is  true,  the  probability  of  the  numbers  being  collected  into  a 
volume,  was  several  times  mentioned  to  me,  and  several  times  passed 
slightly  through  my  mind.  But  somehow  I  have  not  dwelt  upon  it ; 
the  idea  has  not  been  realized ;  and  it  seems  impossible  that  any  man 
writing  newspaper  essays,  as  I  am  doing,  can  have  the  feelings  or  care 
of  a  man  who  sits  down  with  malice  prepense  to  write  a  book.  But 
enough  on  this  tack ;  you  will  think  all  this  affectation  : — but  if  you 
do,  as  Tom  Bowling  says;  in  Roderick  Random,  "  you  will  think  a 
d d  lie." 

Why  does  not  our  trusty  and  well-beloved  Peter  sow  some  of  the 
seeds  of  immortality  in  the  Old  Bachelor  ?  If  he  does  not,  the  old 
fellow  will  be  under  the  turf  in  less  than  ten  years. 

Is  not  Frank  a  rascal  ?  Does  n't  he  know  that  he  is  a  rascal  ?  Has 
he  the  face  to  deny  that  he  is  a  rascal  ?  The  fellow's  face,  to  be  sure, 
is  ugly  and  hard  enough  for  any  thing :  but  if  he  were  to  deny  that 
he  is  a  rascal,  he  would  be  no  true  man.  I  shall  take  care  to  put  a 
key  to  the  first  volume  of  the  Old  Bachelor,  to  let  the  world  know 
who  is  meant  by  Galen,  and  shall  publish  the  letters  that  I  have 
received  from  him  on  this  subject,  in  an  appendix,  that  the  world  may 
know  what  sort  of  fellow  he  is,  and  that  I  did  not  make  the  promise 
I  have  given,  without  authority. 

I  told  you  I  should  not  write  a  long  letter,  and  you  see  I  am  better 
than  my  word.     But  it  is  past  nine  o'clock,  and  I  have  yet  to  finish 
the  nineteenth  number.     Grace  will  be  out  on  Tuesday  week. 
Our  love  to  your  household.     Hare  is  still  well. 

Adieu, 

WM.  WIRT. 


282  CORRESPONDENCE  WITH  CARR.  [1811. 

CARR   TO    WIRT. 

CHARLOTTESVILLE,  March  25,  1811. 
My  DEAR  FRIEND: 

*  *  #  *  #  * 

Yesterday's  mail  brought  me  yours  of  the  23d.  You  say  my  election 
is  infallible.  I  must  acknowledge  it  looks  something  like  it.  So,  upon 
the  strength  of  it,  I  have  begun  to  prepare  in  earnest.  Fearful  is  the 
thought  of  sticking  myself  upon  the  Bench,  standing  the  shot  of  every 
eye,  and  giving  it  back  in  speeches ;  but,  I  will  screw  my  courage  to 
the  sticking  point,  and,  with  a  strong  effort,  drive  back  the  blood 
which  would  mount  into  my  face.  They  shall  not  see  the  coward 
heart  which  trembles  within.  "  How  many  men  who,  inward  searched, 
have  livers  white  as  milk,  wear  yet  upon  their  front  the  brow  of  Her 
cules  and  frowning  Mars."  I  don't  know  whether  this  quotation  be 
apposite,  but  you  may  take  it,  as  a  Rowland  for  your  Oliver. 
******* 

As  to  your  meeting  me  on  my  circuit,  there  are  two  objections : 
First,  it  would  be  a  trouble  which  I  cannot  consent  you  should  take  : 
and,  second,  I  had  rather  take  a  bear  by  the  chin  than  see  you  in 
court  whilst  I  was  on  the  bench  in  my  first  circuit.  I  will  not  say, 
my  dear  Wirt,  that  the  friendly  solicitude  and  zeal  you  have  shown 
for  me,  in  this  affair,  have  surprised  me }  but  I  will  say,  they  have 
given  me  the  truest  pleasure  my  heart  can  feel.  I  will  say,  that  they 
have  raised  me  in  my  own  esteem ;  for  I  can  never  believe  that  man 
without  merit,  for  whom  you  have  discovered  so  much  friendship. 


TO  DABNEY  CARR. 

RICHMOND,  March  26,  1811. 
My  DEAR  FRIEND  : 

Your  stars  have  at  length  done  you  justice.  The  course  of  glory 
is  opened  to  you,  and  the  goal  in  full  view.  7-x 

******* 

It  is  but  this  instant  that  H ,  a  mischievous  old  rascal,  has 

made  my  heart  sink  and  turn  cold,  by  telling  me,  with  the  best  acted 

gravity,  that  T was  elected.  He  relieved  me,  however,  in  two 

or  three  minutes  after  I  was  semi-animis. 

I  understand  that  you  had  five  out  of  six  of  the  Council  in  your 
favour.  This  is  glorious  !  I  will  drink  your  health  in  a  bumper,  at 
dinner,  and  hail  you  as  Judge  Carr.  Now,  how  busy,  busy  will  your 


CHAP.  XIX.]         CORRESPONDENCE  WITH  CARR.  283 

imagination  be,  as  you  ride  home.     How  will  the  plans  and  schemes 

swarm  ! — the  airy  castles  tower !    To  eke  out  these  operations,  II 

says,  he  '11  be if  you  shall  come  to  Manchester.     He  says  you 

shall  buy  a  small  farm  in  the  country,  where,  with  six  or  seven 
servants,  you  can  maintain  your  family,  keep  your  children  in  health, 
and  save  your  salary,  wholly. 

'  The  suggestion  brought  a  very  beautiful  and  valuable  place,  as 
represented  to  me,  in  Powhatan,  in  full  view.  It  belongs  to  a  man 
by  the  name  of  Woodson, — has  an  admirable  piece  of  meadow  on  it, 
and  a  most  excellent,  nay,  beautiful  house,  with  all  necessary  offices. 

I  should  have  bought  it  myself,  last  summer,  but  Cabell,  Hare  and 
others  persuaded  me  I  had  no  business  with  a  farm. 

This  place  lies  within  two  miles  of  Pope's ;  and,  I  think,  will  cost 
you  seven  or  eight  thousand  dollars,  at  the  outside, — of  which  only 
two  or  three  thousand,  I  think,  were,  required  in  cash.  You  can  buy 
this  place,  and  stock  it,  without  invading  your  salary,  or  absorbing 
that  capital  of  which  we  talked  when  you  were  here.  You  can  make 
your  farm  a  source  of  profit,  as  well  as  of  subsistence ;  and,  I  doubt 
not,  that  if  you  provide  the  first  payment,  the  instalments  will  be 
easily  met  by  the  agricultural  profits  and  the  interest  of  your  remain 
ing  capital,  so  as  to  leave  that  capital,  itself,  whole,  and  enable  you  to 
lay  up  and  save  every  cent  of  your  salary. 

Think  of  the  accumulations  of  ten  years,  on  this  scale,  while  fame 
is  accumulating  also.  The  prospect  is  delightful ! 

You  see,  I  have  done  justice  to  this  scheme  of  H 's.     He  went 

farther,  and  contrasted  the  consequences  of  a  residence  in  Manchester ; 
and,  although  his  argument  thwarted  the  plan  which  self  would  have 
prescribed  for  you  (meaning  my  self),  yet  I  confess  he  staggered  me 
in  relation  to  your  interests. 

These  things,  however,  we  can  examine  maturely,  before  the  Legis 
lature  shall  meet. 

******* 

I  think  I  can  see  your  broad  grin  before  you  get  within  a  hundred 
and  fifty  yards  of  your  house.  These  are  precious  feelings. 

Once  more,  God  bless  you. 

Your  friend, 

WM.  WIRT. 

TO    DABNEY   CARR. 

RICHMOND,  April  11, 1811. 
MY  DEAR  CHEVALIER,  ALIAS  JUDGE,  &c. : 

I  was  honoured  (mark  me,  sir,  I  say  honoured,  for  I  felt  the  honour 
most  sensibly)  by  a  letter  from  your  wife,  by  the  last  Charlottesville 
mail,  enclosing  one  for  you.  By-the-bye,  she  calls  herself  my  friend 
therein ;  and  I  would  not  give  that  declaration  for  all  the  friendship 


284  VAGARIES.  L1811. 

of  you  he  fellows  that  ever  were  born.  I  tell  you,  sir,  the  word  made 
my  heart  leap,  and  I  thought  I  was  somebody.  0  !  there  is  some 
thing  in  the  friendship  of  one  of  those  souls  of  heavenly  mould,  that 

makes  all  the  earth  vanish  in  my  view  ! Confound  it !    Was  there 

ever  a  fellow  so  much  disappointed  ?  I  was  so  much  transported  with 
this  imagination  of  friendship,  that,  thinking  it  too  much,  I  have 
turned  to  her  short  note,  and  instead  of  "friend,"  find  it  " yours, 
with  great  esteem/'  How  came  the  idea  into  my  head  ?  No  matter. 
"Yours,  with  great  esteem/'  is  good;  but,  how  much  greater  and 
less  happy  does  it  make  me  than  "  your  friend."  Poh  !  says  your 
judicial  dignity,  what  nonsense!  Well,  sir, — "poh!" — and  there, 
as  George  Hay  told  Edmund  Randolph,  is  a  "  poh  for  you."  Now, 
sir,  as  I  am  told  you  can't  receive  your  own  letter  from  your  wife 
until  after  this,  you  shall  have  the  whole  of  hers  to  me,  and  so  I 
enclose  it,  upon  your  special  promise  to  return  it  again. 

And  so,  as  I  was  saying  —  thinks  I  —  would  it  not  be  pleasing  to 

Mrs.  C ,  to  let  her  know  I  have  received  her  husband's  letter, 

and  that  it  is  in  the  right  track  to  get  to  him  ?  Thereupon,  sir,  I 
sets  me  down,  and  forthwith,  in  choice  phrase,  I  writes  me  a  letter  to 
your  wife. 

If  a  man  will  leave  his  wife,  and  go  off,  Heaven  knows  where,  he 
must  not  be  surprised  if  a  sentimental  young  Adonis,  like  me,  tries  to 
take  advantage  of  his  absence.  What  I  did  write,  sir,  you  will  not 
hear  from  me,  nor  from  her,  unless  she  has  a  mind  to  put  an  end  to 
the  correspondence,  thus  happily  begun. 

Hem  ! — hem !  You  are  wrong,  sir.  The  guess  is  incorrect.  I 
have  had  no  company  to-day.  Two  segars,  indeed,  I  have  smoked ; 
but,  I  am  just  half-way  through  a  Court  of  Appeals  argument,  and  I 
am  displeased  at  the  injustice  you  do  me  in  supposing  me  to  the  south 
of  the  equator. 

Talking  of  the  equator ;  come,  let  us  be  geographical.  Heavens  ! 
Where  are  you  ?  Ain't  you  out  of  your  latitude  ? — What  a  parcel 
of  savages ! — or,  as  they  used  to  call  it,  salvages.  Hush  !  They 
speak  well  of  you ;  and,  gratitude  is  a  virtue  in  spite  of  Godwin. 

Well,  now  I  wiU  be  serious.  I  turned  the  page  with  a  determina 
tion  to  convince  you  I  was  sober, — and  so  I  will ; — for  when  a  man 
is — sober,  why  shouldn't  he  appear  to  be  so  ?  Very  true  !  "  But 
when  or  where  this  world  was  made  for  Caesar,  I  am  weary  of  con 
jectures. — This  shall  end  them.'' 

God  bless  you.     All  well. 

WM.  WIRT. 

P.  S.  —  Cabell  says  I  must  be  drunk,  or  I  should  not  have  said 
(( confound"  to  you,  when  I  might  have  said  "  consume,"  which  he 
takes  to  be  your  word ;  and  which  I  now,  for  the  first  time,  suspect 
you  caught  from  Colonel  Morris,  with  the  rest  of  your  classics. 


CHAP.  XIX.]         THE  ATTORNEY-GENERALSHIP.  285 

Love  Peter  Randolph.     I  am  told  his  modesty  envelopes  him  j  but, 
when  you  pierce  it,  you  will  find  him  lovely. 

Not  one  line  for  me.     Then  come  and  see  me. 

Judge  C ,  inspired  by  this,  writes  you  a  funny  letter,  which  he 

expects  you  to  laugh  at,  in  every  line. 

Did  you  ever  see  such  grave  judicial  stuff? 

In  reply  to  this  he  says  :  "  you  be !"    "  Upon  my  word,"  says 

N ,  "  this  is  Judge-like ;"  but  she  is  a  federalist,  and,  of  course, 

malicious.     A  literal  dialogue. 

W.  W. 


TO  DABNEY  CARR. 

RICHMOND,  June  28,  1811. 
MY  DEAR  JUDGE  : 

Never  having  committed  such  an  act  of  negligence,  as  to  leave 
behind  me  the  key  of  my  baggage,  I  know  not  how  to  imagine  your 
embarrassments,  or  sympathise  with  your  distresses.  Carelessness, 
"  in  man  or  woman,  dear  my  lord,  is," — as  the  old  fellow  told  Colo 
nel  McDowell,  "  what  I  do  hate."  How  does  this  tagging  of  Shak- 
speare,  and  patching  elegant  quotations,  hit  your  taste  ?  Nunquam 
animus. 

Judge  Coalter  takes  your  key,  and  will  chaunt  you  the  triumphs  of 
the  Court  of  Appeals. 

I  am  in  main  haste.  My  wife  and  bairns  join  in  love  to  you  and 
yours.  Ere  long,  I  shall  write  to  you  apud  largum.  For  the  pre 
sent,  with  love  to  Don  Pedro  and  friends, 

I  am  yours, 

WM.  WIRT. 

In  the  midst  of  all  the  playfulness  and  exultation  apparent  in  these 
letters,  Wirt  was  suddenly  brought  to  the  contemplation  of  political 
preferment,  for  which  he  had  hitherto  expressed  such  determined 
aversion.  The  resignation  of  Mr.  Rodney,  which  occurred  at  this 
period,  left  the  post  of  Attorney-General  open  to  the  disposal  of  the 
President.  Many  eyes  were  turned  upon  Mr.  Wirt  at  this  juncture, 
as  likely  to  be  called  to  fill  this  office.  His  position  at  the  bar,  his 
acquirements  and  high  reputation,  as  well  as  the  friendly  appreciation 
of  him  by  Mr.  Madison,  rendered  this  event  quite  probable.  The 
general  speculation  of  the  society  of  Richmond  upon  this  appoint 
ment,  brought  the  subject  so  directly  to  his  mind,  that  he  was  obliged 
to  give  it  consideration  —  not  very  gravely,  indeed,  as  will  be  seen 
presently.  How  he  entertained  the  proposition,  may  be  read  in  the 


286  LETTER  TO  CARR.  [1811. 

following  letter,  in  reply  to  some  jocular  advice  upon  the  matter  from 
Carr. 

The  reader  will  understand  the  reference  to  the  "  lignum  apis  At 
torney-General/'  as  a  specimen  of  that  latinity  which,  he  may  have 
heretofore  observed,  was  somewhat  cultivated  between  the  two  corre 
spondents.  Carr,  in  this  vocabulary,  is  called  "  Carissime  Currus ; 
Wirt  is  sometimes  addressed,  in  return,  as  -'Mi  care  Eras."  "With 
this  key,  we  may  translate  "nunquam  animus/'  in  the  last  letter, 
"nevermind,"  and  the  phrase  above  alluded  to,  "lignum  apis"  to 
signify  the  "would-be"  Attorney-General. 

This  letter  is  dated  from  Montevideo,  the  summer  residence  of 
Judge  Cabell,  in  Buckingham,  on  the  James  River,  where  Wirt  and 
his  family  were  frequent  guests. 

TO    DABNEY    CARR. 

MONTEVIDEO,  August  11,  1811. 
MY  DEAR  FRIEND  : 

I  have  already  written  seven  letters  this  morning,  to  go  by  the 
Judge,  who  has  gone  to  Buckingham  Court-house,  and  thus  to  be 
thrown  (i.  e.,  the  letters)  into  the  current  of  the  mail;  but  six  of 
those  letters  were  on  business,  the  seventh  in  reply  to  one  from  Gene 
ral  Minor,  which  I  was  anxious  should  meet  him  at  the  Sulphur 
Springs,  and  which  it  will  be  pushed  to  do,  as  the  letter  will  have  to 
make  a  circuit  by  Richmond. 

*•*'#•*-#,#>'* 

Your  letter  was  to  have  been  answered,  also,  through  the  same 
channel.  But,  although  I  rose  by  the  dawn  of  day,  and  had  to  write 
by  candle-light,  my  letters  were  unavoidably  so  long,  and  the  Judge 
started  so  early,  that  I  lost  his  conveyance  for  my  answer  to  you,  and 
shall  have  to  throw  this  into  the  devious  and  perilous  track  of  the 
Warminster  monsoon  : — the  Lord  send  it  a  safe  deliverance  !  I  am 
in  the  humour,  however,  to  write ;  and  there  is  this  advantage  in  the 
communion  of  the  heart,  that  it  is  of  no  date,  and  so  never  grows  stale. 
So  now  to  your  letter  by  Cabell, — which  is  one  "  so"  more  than  the 
laws  of  euphony  will  justify, — and  so  I  add  two  more,  by  way  of  keep 
ing  them  in  countenance.  Jlllons. 

It  was,  I  think,  only  last  winter  that  I  told  you,  in  all  the  sincerity 
and  solemnity  of  friendly  confidence,  that  I  had  resolved  on  a  plan  of 
life,  from  which  I  would  not  depart;  which  was,  to  follow  with  ardour 
the  pursuit  of  my  profession,  along  the  smooth  bosom  of  the  Pacific, 
on  which  I  was  now  gliding  with  a  fair  breeze  and  flowing  sail ;  and 
thus  keep  myself  clear,  by  many  a  league,  both  of  land  and  water, 


CHAP.  XIX.]          THE  ATTORNEY-GENERALSHIP.  287 

and  of  those  dark  and  rough  storms  which  are  perpetually  scourging 
and  lashing  into  foam  the  political  Baltic.  I  saw  by  the  experience 
of  others,  I  told  you,  the  treatment  which  I  should  experience,  and 
could  anticipate,  almost  with  certainty,  the  topics  of  abuse  and  vilifi 
cation  with  which  I  should  be  regaled.  All  this  was  certainly  pru 
dence  and  sound  sense, — perhaps  a  little  too  timorous  for  a  hero ;  but, 
nevertheless,  sensible, — and,  as.  old  James  Heron  said,  when  he  threw 
up  the  ace,  king  and  queen  of  trumps,  at  loo,  "  One  cannot  be  too 
cautious." 

Well,  after  this  discreet,  rational,  philosophic  talk,  which,  I  remem 
ber,  satisfied  you  perfectly  at  the  time,  if  I  might  judge  by  silence, 
looks  and  nods  of  assent,  the  next  thing  you  hear  from  me  is,  that  I 
am  red-hot,  hissing  hot  for  a  plunge  into  that  aforesaid  Baltic.  What 
are  you  to  think  of  such  a  man  ?  Does  such  light  and  weathercock 
versatility  denote  a  man  of  sufficient  sinew  to  breast  the  surge  of  that 
stormy  sea,  and  hold  on  upon  his  course  ?  Does  it  become  a  man  who 
would  be  a  politician  ?  Was  I  not  deceiving  both  myself  and  you, 
when  I  thought  myself  philosophizing  and  resolving  prudently  ?  Was 
I  not  merely  preparing  a  fund  of  consolation  for  political  obscurity, 
and  providing,  without  being  conscious  of  it,  for  a  walk,  which  I  could 
not  avoid,  through  the  humble  vale  of  life — for  that  track  for  which, 
alone,  so  much  fickleness  and  caprice  show  that  I  am  fitted  ?  Or  have 
fame  and  distinction  charms  which  no  man  (however  resolved)  can 
resist,  on  whom  they  please  to  look  ?  Or  have  I  mistaken  ray  own 
particular  character  j  and  has  there  been,  all  along,  a  fund  of  dormant 
ambition  in  my  breast,  which  required  but  the  match  to  be  pointed 
towards  it,  to  blow  up  and  betray  itself;  and  that,  too  when  it  was  too 
late  to  do  any  thing  but  betray  itself? 

Now,  I  dare  say  that,  so  far  from  being  ready  to  give  me  satisfac 
tion  in  these  particulars,  your  judicial  head  is,  by  this  time,  pretty 
much  in  the  state  of  my  Uncle  Toby's,  on  a  certain  occasion  which 
shall  be  nameless. 

But  what  is  the  use  of  pestering  ourselves  with  speculations  on  this 
subject  ?  The  fact  is  so ;  the  cat  is  out  of  the  bag, — and  what  odds 
does  it  make  how  she  came  in  it  ? 

Very  true ;  but  inconsistency  is  so  weak  and  silly  a  thing,  that  a 
man  would  much  rather  bewilder  the  beholder,  in  an  abstruse  and 
multi-forked  speculation  about  its  cause,  than  to  stand  stock  still,  like 
a  target,  and  brave  his  steady  gaze.  Moore  talks  very  happily  of 
"dulling  delight,  by  exploring  its  cause;"  why  may  not  a  man  bor 
row  a  hint  from  that  thought,  and  endeavour  to  be  "  dulling  contempt 
by  exploring  its  cause  ?"  I  am  not  certain  of  the  accuracy  of  the 
analogy ;  but  I  shall  not  stop  my  pen  to  examine  it ;  for,  if  I  do,  I 
may  have  to  blot  out,  and  I  hate  a  blurred  and  blotted  letter :  so, 
here  we  go ! 

Now,  sir,  let  me  tell  you  that  I  did  not  like  your  "  lignum  apis 


288  LETTER  TO  CARR.  [1811. 

Attorney-General  of  the  United  States."  The  retort  was  not  a  fair 
one;  you  are  in  office,  snug  and  safe,  and,  therefore,  were  fair  and 
lawful  game;  whereas  I  was  only  in  a  state  of  aspiration,  with  a 
pretty  fair  prospect  of  a  disappointment  before  me.  Sir,  you  were 
not  only  violating  Sterne's  beautiful  sentiment  of  breaking  a  jest  in 
the  sacred,  presence  of  sorrow,  but  were  breaking  your  jest  on  that 
very  sorrow  itself, — making  it  the  theme  and  butt,  as  it  were,  of  your 
merriment. 

As  to  you,  I  do  not  hear  man,  woman  or  child  whisper  the  faintest 
susurration,  (or  susurrate  the  faintest  whisper,  as  the  case  may  be,  as 
our  form-books  sagely  tell  us,)  of  a  doubt  of  your  being  confirmed. 
Not  meaning  that  our  form-books  tell  us  of  a  doubt, — for  that  would 
be  to  disregard  the  parenthesis,  through  mere  wantonness  and  levity 
of  head,  than  which  there  cannot  be  a  greater  misfortune  to  a  Judge, 
except,  indeed,  the  plumbosily  of  the  same  member,  (if,  indeed,  it  be 
a  member,)  (as  I  should  suppose  it  not  only  was,  but  also  the  head 
and  chief  of  members) — lo  !  I  am  lost : — but  to  come  back  to  you  as 
the  rallying  point. 

Cabell  says  there  is  no  more  doubt  of  your  confirmation  than 

chalk  's  like  cheese,  or  than any  thing  in  the  world.  So,  you  see 

you  are  safe  enough. 

I  shall  call  at  Pope's  as  I  go  down,  about  the  20th ;  see  whether 
the  definitive  treaty  is  signed ;  examine  the  site,  and  give  you  my 
opinion,  gratis. 

Now,  this  puts  me  in  mind  of  myself,  again ;  for  why  should  I  wish 
to  be  going  from  Richmond,  when  you  are  coming  so  near  it  ?  Ay, 
why  should  I  ?  What  is  there  in  the  rough,  unbuilt,  hot  and  desolate 
hills  of  Washington,  or  in  its  winter  rains,  mud,  turbulence  and 
wrangling,  that  could  compensate  me  for  all  those  pure  pleasures  of 
the  heart  I  should  lose  in  such  a  vicinity  ?  No, — since  we  have  spent 
our  youth  and  manhood  together  thus  far,  my  wish  is  to  go  down  the 
hill,  "  hand  in  hand,  and  sleep  together  at  its  foot."  How  natural 
was  Pope's  dying  sentiment  to  his  situation,  "  There  is  nothing  in  life 
that  is  worth  a  thought,  but  friendship  ?  "  We  both  know  that  there 
is  another  sentiment  of  still  greater  value ;  yet  they  are  both  requisite 
to  the  harmony  of  the  piece :  love  is  the  tenor  of  life's  music,  and 
friendship  its  bass.  So,  I  will  stay  at  Richmond. 

As  at  present  advised,  I  think  that  Dallas,  if  he  would  accept, 
ought  to  have  the  appointment.  J.  T.  Mason,  I  am  told,  would  not. 
Pinkney,  we  conjecture  here,  will  receive  it,  if  it  should  be  vacated. 
I  know  but  little  of  him ;  he  had  the  reputation,  when  I  was  at  school, 
of  being  the  most  eloquent  young  lawyer  in  Maryland.  His  foreign 
service,  especially  at  this  particular  juncture  of  our  foreign  affairs, 
might  make  him  a  useful  member  of  the  Cabinet. 

I  cannot  help  thinking  that  there  is  something  little,  in  this  notion 
of  appointing  the  highest  officers  in  the  Union,  by  consideration  of 


CHAP.  XIX.]          THE  ATTORNEY-GENERALSHIP.  289 

place.  It  may  do  in  appointing  tide-waiters  and  mail-carriers ;  but 
were  I  a  President,  and  forming  a  Cabinet  who  were  to  assist  me 
in  sustaining  my  vast  responsibility,  I  would  be  no  more  governed  by 
residence,  than  I  would  by  the  colour  of  a  man's  hair.  Cateris  pari- 
lus,  I  would,  indeed,  regard  it : — but  I  would,  first,  be  very  sure  that 
the  Cateris  were  paribus.  I  give  you  this  as  an  abstract  principle, 
and  not  as  one  which  would  at  all  contribute  to  my  promotion.  As 
to  myself,  I  hope  you  will  believe  me  sincere  when  I  tell  you,  that  1 
should  think  Walter  Jones  a  preferable  selection.  I  say  not  this  as 
soliciting  a  compliment  from  you,  my  friend — for  I  know  your  partial 
ity  ; —  but  because  I  am  in  earnest,  and  because  I  wish  to  repel  an 
inference  of  which  I  was  shocked  to  find  my  remark,  on  the  other 
side,  susceptible — that  the  principle  of  choosing  by  superior  capacity 
would  lead  to  my  appointment.  This  is  an  awkward  scrape  I  have 
got  myself  into,  so  I  will  get  out  of  it  as  fast  as  I  can. 

*  #  *  *  *  * 

I  wish  to  Heaven  I  could  have  gone  over  with  Cabell,  but  I  had  a 
mountain  of  business  to  prepare  for  the  fall  campaigns. 

The  Old  Bachelor,  you  see,  suffers  by  my  engagements.  I  have 
not  had  time,  or  the  temper,  since  the  summer  vacation  commenced, 
to  please  even  myself,  much  less  others,  by  an  essay. 

****** 

Mrs.  C.  and  the  Judge  join  in  affectionate  remembrances. 

Grod  bless  you. 

WM.  WIRT. 

It  is  scarcely  necessary  to  remind  the  reader  that  Mr.  Pinkney  suc 
ceeded  to  the  Attorney-Generalship  in  December  of  this  year,  and 
that  Wirt's  accession  to  this  post  was  only  deferred  until  the  succeed 
ing  administration  at  Washington  found  occasion  for  his  services. 

Passing  from  these  topics,  the  reader  will  be  pleased  with  the 
glimpse,  which  the  next  letter  affords,  into  the  privacy  of  domestic 
life,  and  the  affectionate  solicitude  with  which  the  subject  of  our 
memoir  devoted  himself  to  the  education  of  his  children.  His  eldest 
daughter,  Laura,  was  now  eight  years  of  age.  He  has  already  marked 
out  her  course  of  study ;  and  his  aim  is  to  awaken  her  mind  to  a 
perception  of  the  value  of  the  discipline  he  inculcates.  To  that  end, 
this  letter  is  addressed  to  her,  in  language  of  such  plain  and  simple 
structure  —  almost  in  words  of  single  syllables  —  as  may  reach  the 
comprehension  of  a  child,  but,  at  the  same  time,  wrought  with 
admirable  skill  into  a  moral  lesson  of  exquisite  beauty. 

VOL.  I.— 25  T 


290  LETTER  TO  HIS  DAUGHTER.  [1811. 

There  is  nothing  amongst  Mr.  Wirt's  productions  more  pleasantly 
characteristic  of  himself  than  this  letter  to  his  child. 


TO  LAURA  H.  WIRT. 

RICHMOND,  September  13, 1811. 
MY  DEAR  LAURA  : 

I  would  have  answered  your  letter  sooner,  but  that  my  courts  and 
my  clients  hardly  leave  me  time  to  write  to  your  dear  mother,  to 
whom,  of  all  other  earthly  creatures,  you  and  I  owe  our  first  duties. 
But  I  have  not  loved  you  the  less  for  not  writing  to  you :  on  the  con 
trary,  I  have  been  thinking  of  you  with  the  greatest  affection,  and 
praying  for  you  on  my  bended  knees,  night  and  morning,  humbly 
begging  of  God  that  he  would  bless  you  with  health  and  happiness, 
and  make  you  an  ornament  to  your  sex,  and  a  blessing  to  your  parents. 
But  we  must  not  be  like  the  man  that  prayed  to  Hercules  to  help  his 
wagon  out  of  the  mud,  and  was  too  lazy  to  try  to  help  himself: — no, 
we  must  be  thoughtful ;  try  our  very  best  to  learn  our  books,  and  to 
be  good ;  and  then,  if  we  call  upon  our  Father  in  heaven,  he  will 
help  us.  I  am  very  glad  your  Latin  grammar  is  becoming  easier  to 
you.  It  will  be  more  and  more  so,  the  more  you  give  your  whole 
mind  to  it.  God  has  been  very  kind  in  blessing  you  with  a  sound 
understanding ;  and  it  would  be  sinful  in  you  to  neglect  such  a  great 
blessing,  and  suffer  your  mind  to  go  to  ruin,  instead  of  improving  it 
by  study,  and  making  it  beautiful,  as  well  as  useful,  to  yourself  and 
others.  It  would  be  almost  as  bad  as  it  would  be  for  Uncle  Cabell 
to  be  so  lazy  himself,  and  to  suffer  his  labourers  to  be  so  lazy,  as  to 
let  his  rich  low  grounds  run  up  all  in  weeds,  instead  of  corn,  and  so 
have  no  bread  to  give  his  family,  and  let  them  all  starve  and  die. 
Now  your  mind  is  as  rich  as  Uncle  Cabell's  low  grounds ;  and  all  that 
your  mother  and  father  ask  of  you,  is,  that  you  will  not  be  so  idle  as 
to  let  it  run  to  weeds ;  but  that  you  will  be  industrious  and  studious, 
and  so  your  mind  will  bring  a  fine  crop  of  fruits  and  flowers. 

Suppose  there  was  a  nest  full  of  beautiful  young  birds,  so  young 
that  they  could  not  fly  and  help  themselves,  and  they  were  opening 
their  little  mouths,  and  crying  for  something  to  eat  and  drink,  and 
their  parents  would  not  bring  them  any  thing,  but  were  to  let  them 
cry  on  from  morning  till  night,  till  they  starved  and  died,  would  not 
they  be  very  wicked  parents  ?  Now,  your  mind  is  this  nest  full  of 
beautiful  little  singing-birds;  much  more  beautiful  and  melodious 
than  any  canary-birds  in  the  world ;  and  there  sits  fancy,  and  reason, 
and  memory,  and  judgment, — all  with  their  little  heads  thrust  for 
ward  out  of  the  nest,  and  crying  as  hard  as  they  can  for  something 
to  eat  and  drink.  Will  you  not  love  your  father  and  mother  for 
trying  to  feed  them  with  books  and  learning,  the  only  kind  of  meat 


CHAP.  XIX.]  PROPER  MENTAL  CULTURE.  291 

and  drink  they  love,  and  without  which  those  sweet  little  songsters 
must,  in  a  few  years,  hang  their  heads  and  die  ?  Nay,  will  you  not 
do  your  very  best  to  help  your  father  and  mother  to  feed  them,  that 
they  may  grow  up,  get  a  full  suit  of  fine  glossy  feathers,  and  cheer 
the  house  with  their  songs  ?  And,  moreover,  would  it  not  be  very 
wrong  to  feed  some,  of  them  only,  and  let  the  rest  starve  ?  You  are 
very  fond,  when  you  get  a  new  story-book,  of  running  through  it  as 
fast  as  you  can,  just  for  the  sake  of  knowing  what  happened  to  this 
one,  and  that  one ;  in  doing  this,  you  are  only  feeding  one  of  the  four 
birds  I  have  mentioned, — that  is,  fancy,  which,  to  be  sure,  is  the 
loudest  singer  among  them,  and  will  please  you  most  while  you  are 
young.  But,  while  you  are  thus  feeding  and  stuffing  fancy, — reason, 
memory  and  judgment  are  starving;  and  yet,  by-and-by.e,  you  will 
think  their  notes  much  softer  and  sweeter  than  those  of  fancy, 
although  not  so  loud,  and  wild,  and  varied.  Therefore,  you  ought  to 
feed  those  other  birds,  too  :  they  eat  a  great  deal  slower  than  fancy : 
they  require  the  grains  to  be  pounded  in  a  mortar  before  they  can 
get  any  food  from  them ;  that  is,  when  you  read  a  pretty  story,  you 
must  not  gallop  over  it  as  fast  as  you  can,  just  to  learn  what  hap 
pened  ;  but  you  must  stop  every  now  and  then,  and  consider  why  one 
of  the  persons  you  are  reading  of  is  so  much  beloved,  and  another  so 
much  hated.  This  sort  of  consideration  pounds  the  grains  in  a  mor 
tar,  and  feeds  reason  and  judgment.  Then  you  must  determine  that 
you  will  not  forget  that  story,  but  that  you  will  try  to  remember 
every  part  of  it,  that  you  may  shape  your  own  conduct  by  it, — doing 
those  good  actions  which  the  story  has  told  you  will  make  people 
love  you,  and  avoiding  those  evil  ones  which  you  find  will  make  them 
hate  you.  This  is  feeding  memory  and  judgment  both  at  once. 
Memory,  too,  is  remarkably  fond  of  a  tit-lit  of  Latin  grammar ;  and, 
though  the  food  is  hard  to  come  at,  yet  the  sweet  little  bird  must  not 
starve.  The  rest  of  them  could  do  nothing  without  her ;  for,  if  she 
was  to  die,  they  would  never  sing  again, — at  least  not  sweetly. 
Your  affectionate  father, 

WM.  WIRT. 

"We  have  seen  that,  almost  from  the  first  moments  of  Mr.  Jeffer 
son's  acquaintance  with  Mr.  Wirt,  a  friendly  intercourse  had  grown 
up  between  them,  which  had  gradually  ripened  into  the  most  cordial 
esteem  and  confidence.  It  was  this  sentiment,  on  the  part  of  Mr. 
Jefferson,  which  led  him  to  employ  his  young  friend  in  the  prosecu 
tion  of  Burr.  He  subsequently  engaged  him  as  his  private  counsel 
in  various  matters  which  required  legal  advice.  After  his  retirement 
from  the  presidency,  he  had  more  than  once  been  annoyed  by  suits 
which  were  more  properly  the  care  of  the  Government,  but  in  which 


292  THE  BATTURE  CASE.  [1811. 

attempts  were  made  to  hold  him  responsible,  in  his  own  person,  for 
acts  done  in  the  course  of  his  public  administration.  Of  this  cha 
racter  was  the  suit  brought  against  him,  in  1810,  by  Mr.  Edward 
Livingston,  which  was  now  pending  for  trial,  in  the  Circuit  Court  of 
the  United  States,  at  Richmond.  This  case  is  well  known  to  the 
legal  profession  as  the  Batture  case,  which,  in  its  progress,  occupied 
a  considerable  share  of  the  public  attention ;  and,  not  confined  to  the 
courts,  produced  a  very  learned  and  elaborate  controversy  between  the 
two  distinguished  parties  to  the  cause. 

New  Orleans  was  the  theatre  of  the  great  excitement  to  which 
the  incidents  belonging  to  this  controversy  had  given  rise.  The  new 
beach  formed  by  the  deposits  of  the  Mississippi,  upon  every  annual 
flood,  had  been  claimed  by  the  proprietors  of  the  adjacent  bank,  as 
legal  accretions  to  their  own  possessions.  Mr.  Livingston  being  one 
of  these  proprietors  of  valuable  lots  in  the  city,  had  asserted  his  claim, 
in  1806  and  J7,  to  new  soil  coming  within  this  description  of  increase 
by  alluvion.  He  had  done  this  to  the  discontent  of  many  persons  in 
New  Orleans,  who  apprehended,  from  certain  works  constructed  by 
him  upon  the  beach, — or  batture,  as  it  was  called, — serious  injury  to 
the  harbour.  The  intervention  of  the  General  Government  was  de 
manded  in  the  matter,  upon  the  ground  that  the  beaches  and  beds  of 
rivers  were  under  its  special  protection.  Great  exasperation  prevailed 
in  the  city  against  Mr.  Livingston.  Riots  were  threatened ;  and  the 
grand  jury  had  presented  the  new  structure  on  the  beach  as  a  nui 
sance.  In  response  to  the  application  to  the  government,  Mr.  Jef 
ferson  had  directed  the  labourers  in  the  employ  of  Mr.  Livingston  to 
be  driven  off  the  ground,  which  order  was  finally  enforced  by  a  posse 
comitatus.  This  was  done  in  opposition  to  the  judgment  of  a  local 
Court,  which  had  decreed  in  favour  of  Mr.  Livingston. 

The  consequence  of  these  proceedings  was,  as  has  been  already 
stated,  a  suit  against  Mr.  Jefferson  for  a  trespass.  Mr.  Wirt,  Mr. 
Hay,  and  Mr.  Tazewell,  were  employed  as  his  counsel,  and  were  fur 
nished  with  full  notes  of  the  merits  of  the  controversy.  The  case, 
however,  never  reached  a  discussion  of  the  merits  of  the  chief  ques 
tions  between  the  parties.  It  was  dismissed  after  argument, — Mr. 
Wickham  appearing  for  the  plaintiff, — upon  the  opinion  of  Judges 
Marshall  and  Tucker,  that  the  Court  in  Virginia  could  not  take  cog- 


CHAP.  XIX.]  LETTER  FROM  MR.  JEFFERSON.  293 

nizance  of  a  trespass  committed  on  lands  in  Louisiana.  This  sudden 
termination  of  the  case  seemed  to  be  equally  unsatisfactory  to  both 
parties,  who  had  made  such  ample  preparation  for  the  main  battle  as 
not  willingly  to  be  reconciled  to  give  it  up.  The  controversy  was 
therefore  resumed  with  pen  and  ink  j  and  a  vast  amount  of  learning, 
seasoned  by  a  due  admixture  of  sarcasm,  wit  and  invective,  was  lav 
ished  upon  the  subject,  very  much  to  the  edification  of  contentious 
riparian  possessors  and  claimants  of  alluvial  deposits  forever  here 
after. 

Contemporaneous  with  this  proceeding,  we  have  a  correspondence 
between  Mr.  Jefferson  and  Mr.  Wirt,  upon  a  subject  of  more  general 
interest,  as  connected  with  the  political  history  of  the  past.  The 
lapse  of  thirty-seven  years  has  stript  this  correspondence  of  its  private 
and  confidential  character,  and  may  now  be  opened  to  the  public  with 
out  any  apprehension  of  unfriendly  comment. 

Duane,  the  editor  of  the  Aurora  in  Philadelphia,  who  had  been  a 
most  effective  supporter  of  Mr.  Jefferson's  administration,  had  lost 
much  ground  with  the  republican  party,  by  his  assault  upon  Mr.  Madi 
son  and  Mr.  Gallatin,  during  the  presidential  canvass  in  which  the 
former  of  these  gentlemen  had  succeeded  to  the  Chief  Magistracy. 
The  consequence  of  this  imprudence,  was  a  sensible  diminution  of  the 
means  to  sustain  his  paper.  The  government  "organ/'  in  those  days, 
had  not  that  secret  mine  of  treasure  which  the  experience  of  our  time 
has  found  in  the  patronage  of  the  ruling  party.  Duane  was  in  dis 
tress,  and  needed  additional  support.  In  this  strait  he  applied  to  Mr. 
Jefferson,  in  the  hope  that,  by  his  recommendation,  the  subscription 
list  of  the  Aurora  would  be  enlarged,  and  the  republican  party  be 
induced  to  contribute  what  might  be  found  necessary.  How  this 
application  fared,  will  be  seen  in  the  extracts  from  the  few  letters  to 
which  I  have  referred. 

FROM    MR.   JEFFERSON   TO  MR.   WIRT. 

MONTICELLO,  March  30,  1811 
DEAR  SIR  : 

Mr.  Dabney  Carr  has  written  to  you  on  the  situation  of  the  editor 
of  the  Aurora,  and  our  desire  to  support  him. 

This  paper  has  unquestionably  rendered  incalculable  services  to 
republicanism  through  all  its  struggles  with  the  federalists,  and  has 
25* 


294  CORRESPONDENCE  WITH  MR.  JEFFERSON.         [1811. 

been  the  rallying  point  for  the  orthodoxy  of  the  whole  Union.  It 
was  our  comfort  in  the  gloomiest  days,  and  is  still  performing  the  office 
of  a  watchful  sentinel.  We  should  be  ungrateful  to  desert  him,  and 
unfaithful  to  our  own  interests  to  lose  him.  Still,  I  am  sensible,  and 
I  hope  others  are  so  too,  that  one  of  his  late  attacks  is  as  unfounded, 
as  it  is  injurious  to  the  republican  cause.  I  mean  that  on  Mr  Galla- 
tin,  than  whom  there  is  no  truer  man,  and  who,  after  the  President, 
is  the  ark  of  our  safety. 

I  have  thought  it  material  that  the  editor  should  understand  that 
that  attack  has  no  part  in  the  motives  for  what  we  may  do  for  him  : 
that  we  do  not,  thereby,  make  ourselves  partisans  against  Mr.  Galla- 
tin ;  but  while  we  differ  from  him  on  that  subject,  we  retain  a  just 
sense  of  all  his  other  services,  and  will  not  be  wanting  as  far  as  we 
can  aid  him. 

For  this  purpose  I  have  written  him  the  enclosed  answer  to  his  letter, 
which,  I  send  for  your  perusal,  on  supposition  that  you  concur  in  the 
sentiment,  and  would  be  unwilling  he  should  misconstrue  the  service 
you  may  be  able  to  render  him,  as  an  encouragement  to  proceed  in 
the  mischievous  undertaking  of  writing  down  Mr.  G-allatin.  Be  so 
good  as  to  return  the  paper  when  read ;  and  to  be  assured  of  my  sin 
cere  and  constant  attachment  and  respect. 

THOMAS  JEFFERSON. 


TO  THOMAS  JEFFERSON. 

RICHMOND,  April  10,  1811. 
DEAR  SIR  : 

I  have  your  favours  by  the  last  mail,  and  will  attend  to  them  with 
much  pleasure. 

If  any  thing  could  be  done  for  Colonel  D.  here,  it  would  be  by 
showing  the  copy  of  your  letter  to  him.  I  shall  retain  it  for  another 
mail,  that  I  may  receive  your  directions  as  to  making  use  of  it  or  not. 
You  may  rely  upon  it  that  D/s  name  has  no  magic  in  it  here.  He  is 
considered  as  the  foe  of  Mr.  Madison ;  and  the  republicans  here  have 
no  sympathy  with  any  man  who  carries  opposition  colours,  whether 
federalist,  quid  or  tertium  quid. 

The  distinction  which  you  made  between  the  past  fidelity  and  pre 
sent  aberration  of  the  Aurora,  is  just,  liberal  and  magnanimous ;  and 
the  sentiment  might,  perhaps,  be  spread  by  the  contagion  of  your  let 
ter.  I  have  made  one  experiment,  to-day,  without  it.  The  answer 
was,  that  D.  could  not  want  friends,  since  his  alliance  with  the  S s. 

By  the  next  mail,  I  shall  have  satisfied  myself  conclusively  as  to 
the  possibility  of  my  doing  any  thing  without  the  aid  of  your  letter. 
With  respectful  affection, 

Your  friend  and  servant. 

WM.  WIRT. 


CHAP.  XIX.]     CORRESPONDENCE  WITH  MR.  JEFFERSON.      295 

TO    THOMAS  JEFFERSON. 

RICHMOND,  April  17,  1811. 
DEAR  SIR  : 

•*  #  *  *  *  * 

The   copy  of  your  letter  to  D.;  has   been   shown  to  one  person 

only 

*  *  *  With  the  use  of  that  letter,  some 

thing  important  might  be  done  for  D.,  in  spite  of  the  adverse  spirit, 
or,  at  least,  distrust  which  the  factious  and  equivocal  character  of  his 
paper  has  lately  excited — equivocal  in  relation  to  Mr.  Madison.  But 
his  three  or  four  last  papers  contain  such  insulting  paragraphs  in  re 
lation  to  Mr.  Madison,  that  I  think  it  very  dubious  whether  even 
your  letter  would  not  be  too  late,  had  I  been  permitted  to  show  it. 

The  paper  is  regarded,  now,  as  an  opposition  one.  In  what  other 
light  can  it  be  regarded,  when  it  exhibits  the  President  as  being  so 
perfectly  the  tool  of  Mr.  Gallatin,  as  to  have  descended  from  the 
ground  of  a  gentleman  in  relation  to  Mr.  S.,  and  played  him  "a  shabby 
Genevan  trick  1" 

******* 

Can  charity  or  magnanimity  require  us  longer  to  adhere  to  this 
man  ?  Can  he  consider  it  as  persecution  to  desert  him,  after  he  has 
abandoned  his  cause,  the  people  and  the  President,  and  has  begun  to 
strain  every  nerve  to  bring  them  into  contempt  ?  I  think  he  has  for 
some  time  required  a  lesson  on  the  subject  of  modesty,  which  the  people 
will  now  give. 

******* 

Every  gentleman  who  mentions  this  subject  in  my  hearing,  speaks 
with  the  warmest  resentment  against  D.  Believe  me,  it  is  impossible 
to  do  any  thing  for  him  here  now ;  and  any  further  attempt  would 
only  disable  me  from  rendering  any  service  to  the  cause  hereafter. 
It  is  the  impracticability  of  serving  him  produced  by  his  own  con 
duct,  as  well  as  the  violation  I  feel  it  would  be  of  my  sentiments  for 
Mr.  Madison,  that  prevent  me  from  proceeding. 
I  return,  herewith,  the  copy  of  Mr.  D.'s  letter  to  you,  and  yours  to 
him;  and  beg  you  to  be  assured  of  my  respectful  and  affectionate 
devotion. 

WM.  WIRT. 

THOMAS   JEFFERSON   TO   WILLIAM   WIRT. 

MONTICELLO,  May  3,  1811. 
DEAR  SIR  : 

The  interest  you  were  so  kind  as  to  take,  at  my  request,  in  the 
case  of  Duane;  and  the  communication  to  you  of  my  first  letter  to 


296  CORRESPONDENCE  WITH  MR.  JEFFERSON.          [1811. 

him,  entitle  you  to  a  communication  of  the  second,  which  will  pro 
bably  be  the  last.  I  have  ventured  to  quote  your  letter  in  it,  without 
giving  your  name,  and  even  softening  some  of  its  expressions  respect 
ing  him.  It  is  possible  Duane  may  be  reclaimed  as  to  Mr.  Madison — 
but,  as  to  Mr.  Gallatin,  I  despair  of  it.  That  enmity  took  its  rise 
from  a  suspicion  that  Mr.  Gallatin  interested  himself  in  the  election 
of  their  governor,  against  the  views  of  Duane  and  his  friends.  I  do 
not  believe  Mr.  Gallatin  meddled  in  it.  I  was  in  conversation  with  him 
nearly  every  day  during  the  contest,  and  I  never  heard  him  express 
any  bias  in  the  case.  The  ostensible  grounds  of  the  attack  on  Mr. 
Gallatin,  are  all  either  false  or  futile. 


But  they  say  he  was  hostile  to  me.  This  is  false.  I  was  indebted 
to  nobody  for  more  cordial  aid  than  to  Mr.  Gallatin;  nor  could  any 
man  more  solicitously  interest  himself  in  behalf  of  another  than 
he  did  of  myself.  His  conversations  with  Erskine  are  objected  as 
meddling  out  of  his  department.  Why  then  do  they  not  object  to 
Mr.  Smith's  with  Rose  ?  The  whole  nearly  of  that  negotiation,  as 
far  as  it  was  transacted  verbally,  was  by  Mr.  Smith.  The  business 
was  in  this  way  explained  informally ;  and,  on  understandings  thus 
obtained,  Mr.  Madison  and  myself  shaped  our  formal  proceedings.  In 
fact,  the  harmony  among  us  was  so  perfect,  that  whatever  instrument 
appeared  most  likely  to  effect  the  object  was  always  used  without  jeal 
ousy.  Mr.  Smith  happened  to  catch  Mr.  Rose's  favour  and  confi 
dence  at  once.  We  perceived  that  Rose  would  open  himself  more 
frankly  to  him  than  to  Mr.  Madison,  and  we,  therefore,  made  him  the 
medium  of  obtaining  an  understanding  of  Mr.  Rose. 

Mr,  Gallatin's  support  of  the  Bank  has,  I  believe,  been  disapproved 
by  many.  He  was  not  in  Congress  when  that  was  established,  and, 
therefore,  had  never  committed  himself  publicly  on  the  constitution 
ality  of  that  institution,  nor  do  I  recollect  ever  to  have  heard  him 
declare  himself  on  it.  I  know  he  derived  immense  convenience  from 
it,  because  they  gave  the  eifect  of  ubiquity  to  his  money  wherever 
deposited.  Money  in  New  Orleans  or  Maine  was,  at  his  command 
and  by  their  agency,  transformed  in  an  instant  into  money  in  London, 
in  Paris,  Amsterdam  or  Canton.  He  was  therefore  cordial  to  the 
Bank.  I  often  pressed  him  to  divide  the  public  deposits  among  all 
the  respectable  banks,  being  indignant  myself  at  the  open  hostility 
of  that  institution  to  a  government  on  whose  treasures  they  were  fat 
tening.  But  his  repugnance  to  it  prevented  my  persisting.  And,  if 
he  was  in  favour  of  the  Bank — what  is  the  amount  of  that  crime  or 
error  in  which  he  had  a  majority,  save  one,  in  each  House  of  Con 
gress  as  participators  ?  Yet,  on  these  facts  endeavours  are  made  to 
drive  from  the  administration  the  ablest  man,  except  the  President, 
who  ever  was  in  it,  and  to  beat  down  the  President  himself,  because 


CHAP.  XX.l  THE  WAR.  297 

he  is  unwilling  to  part  with  so  able  a  counsellor.  I  believe  Duane 
to  be  a  very  honest  man,  and  sincerely  republican  }  but  his  passions 
are  stronger  than  his  prudence,  and  his  personal  as  well  as  general  an 
tipathies  render  him  very  intolerant.  These  traits  lead  him  astray,  and 
require  his  readers — even  those  who  value  him  for  his  steady  support 
of  the  republican  cause,  to  be  on  their  guard  against  his  occasional 
aberrations.  He  is  eager  for  war  against  England, — hence  his  abuse 
of  the  two  last  Congresses.  But  the  people  wish  for  peace.  The 
re-election  of  the  same  men  proves  it ;  and,  indeed,  war  against  Bed 
lam  would  be  just  as  rational  as  against  Europe,  in  its  present  condi 
tion  of  total  demoralization.  When  peace  becomes  more  losing  than 
war,  we  may  prefer  the  latter  on  principles  of  pecuniary  calculation. 
But  for  us  to  attempt  a  war  to  reform  all  Europe,  and  bring  them 
back  to  principles  of  morality  and  a  respect  for  equal  rights  of  nations, 
would  show  us  to  be  only  maniacs  of  another  character.  We  should, 
indeed,  have  the  merit  of  the  good  intentions,  as  well  as  the  folly,  of 

the  hero  of  La  Mancha,     But  I  am  getting  beyond  the  object 

of  my  letter,  and  will,  therefore,  here  close  it,  with  assurances  of  my 
great  esteem  and  respect. 

TH.  JEFFERSON. 


CHAPTER    XX. 
1812  —  1813. 

THE  WAR. ITS  EXCITEMENTS. WIRT  DECLINES  A  COMMISSION 

IN  THE  ARMY. VOLUNTEER  SOLDIERY. LIFE  OF  HENRY. 

BURNING  OF  THE  RICHMOND  THEATRE. GOVERNOR  SMITH. 

CARR  APPOINTED  CHANCELLOR,  AND  REMOVES  TO  WINCHESTER. 

LETTERS  TO  HIM. W.  ATTEMPTS  TO  WRITE  A  COMEDY. 

JUDGE  TUCKER'S  OPINION  OF  THE  INFLUENCE  OF  SUCH  LITE 
RATURE  ON  PROFESSIONAL  CHARACTER. DIFFICULTY  OF  COME 
DY. PROFESSIONAL  DIGNITY. — RICHMOND  BAR. ANECDOTE  OF 

A  TRIAL  BETWEEN  WICKHAM  AND  HAY. — EPIGRAM. — WARDEN. 
LETTER  TO  CARR. TIRED  OF  THE  OLD  BACHELOR. BIOGRA 
PHY. — LETTER  FROM  JUDGE  TUCKER  ON  THIS  SUBJECT. — INCI 
DENTS  OF  THE  WAR. BRITISH  ASCEND  TO  CITY  POINT. WIRT 

RAISES    A   CORPS    OF   FLYING   ARTILLERY. LETTER   TO    MRS.  W. 

TO     DABNEY    CARR. GILMER   A    STUDENT    OF   LAW. LETTER 

OF    ADVICE    TO    HIM. 

WE  have  now  approached  a  period  of  great  public  concern  —  the 
war  of  1812.     They  who  remember  the  interest  which  the  events  of 


298  THE  WAR.  [1812-1813. 

that  period  excited,  will  not  need  to  be  told  that  it  pervaded  every 
portion  of  the  country,  and  furnished  an  absorbing  topic  for  every 
Bocial  circle.  Along  the  Atlantic  border,  this  interest  was  increased 
by  continual  alarms  produced  by  the  enemy,  whose  squadrons  hovered 
upon  the  coast,  and  not  unfrequently  made  descents  upon  exposed  or 
unprotected  points.  Although  the  Canada  frontier  was  the  scene  of 
the  severest  conflicts,  and  was  therefore  brought  to  realize  the  worst 
extremes  of  war,  there  was  still  enough  of  threatened  and  actual  colli 
sion  upon  the  bays  and  rivers  of  the  Atlantic  and  the  Gulf  of  Mexico, 
to  keep  all  that  region  in  a  state  of  anxious  outlook  and  busy  prepara 
tion.  The  blockade  of  this  coast,  in  general  loosely  and  inadequately 
maintained,  was  rigidly  enforced  at  two  points,  by  the  presence  of 
ships  of  war  in  the  Delaware  and  Chesapeake.  The  cities  of  Phila 
delphia,  Baltimore,  Norfolk  and  Richmond  were  thus  admonished  of 
impending  danger,  and  were  consequently  ever  upon  the  alert.  The 
frigate  Constellation  lay  at  Norfolk,  and  more  than  one  effort  was 
made  by  Admiral  Warren  to  effect  her  capture.  One  of  these  efforts, 
in  June,  1813,  was  the  assault  of  Craney  Island,  where  the  British 
forces  were  defeated  by  the  Virginia  militia,  aided  by  the  seamen  of 
the  Constellation,  under  the  command  of  Captain  Tarbell.  The 
village  of  Hampton  was  afterwards  attacked  by  the  British  and  taken, 
and  the  most  disgraceful  barbarities  practised  upon  the  inhabitants ; 
barbarities  which  were  the  more  atrocious,  as  they  were  directed,  iri 
some  notable  cases,  against  women,  who  were  forced  to  submit  to  the 
most  shocking  outrages  from  a  licentious  soldiery.  The  particulars 
of  this  execrable  violation  of  the  rules  of  civilized  warfare  are  yet  fresh 
in  the  memory  of  that  region,  and  obtained,  at  the  time,  a  prominent 
notoriety  amongst  the  most  revolting  events  of  the  war. 

It  may  be  imagined  that  such  incidents  aroused  a  universal  feeling 
of  anxiety  everywhere  over  the  district  within  the  supposed  reach  of 
the  power  of  the  squadron,  and  kept  the  people  of  the  country  in  a 
constant  state  of  feverish  expectation  of  the  probability  of  fresh  en 
counters.  The  militia  of  the  interior  were  always  prepared  for  a  sum 
mons  to  the  coast ;  volunteer  companies  were  everywhere  formed ;  and 
the  stir  and  show  and  apparatus  of  war  became  the  most  familiar  ob 
jects  to  all  classes  of  the  population. 

With  all  the  disquietude  and  uneasy  apprehension  which  belonged 


CHAP.  XX.]  EXCITEMENTS.  299 

to  such  a  state  of  things,  there  was  also  a  certain  degree  of  intense 
and  pleasant  excitement,  which  was  greatly  relished  by  the  younger 
and  more  enterprising  portions  of  the  community.  The  preparations 
for  camp  life,  and  the  occasional  experience  of  it;  the  expectation  of 
actual  service  which  was  ever  present  to  those  selected  for  duty ;  the 
military  array  seen  in  every  town ;  the  music,  the  banners,  the  daily 
parade,  the  rapid  muster  and  equipment  of  men ;  the  frequent  march 
ing  of  detachments  to  threatened  points ;  the  performance  of  garrison 
duty ;  the  brotherhood  and  companionship  of  military  life ;  its  adven 
tures,  its  stories,  its  comic  as  well  as  serious  incidents ;  all  this,  under 
the  pleasant  skies  of  a  mild  season  of  the  year,  without  the  discomforts 
and  sufferings  of  a  severe  campaign, — not  far  from  home,  and  conse 
quently  within  the  reach  of  abundant  food  and  shelter, — gave  a  kind 
of  sunshiny  holiday  attraction  to  the  period,  which,  as  I  have  remarked, 
rendered  the  war,  to  the  great  mass  of  those  who  were  most  familiar 
with  these  scenes,  rather  a  pleasant  change  from  the  monotony  of  or 
dinary  quiet  life. 

Richmond  was  one  of  the  centres  of  this  excitement ;  near  enough 
to  be  threatened  with  invasion,  yet  sufficiently  remote  to  be  guarded 
against  sudden  surprise.  During  the  two  years  of  the  war,  therefore, 
she  may  be  said,  with  some  exceptions,  to  have  found,  in  the  agitation 
of  the  public  events,  an  agreeable  supply  of  novelty  to  feed  that  appe 
tite  for  news,  which  was  scarcely  less  characteristic  of  the  gossiping 
Athenians  in  the  days  of  Pericles,  than  of  our  own  people  in  the  time 
to  which  I  have  referred ; — which,  indeed,  has  suffered  no  abatement 
since. 

Wirt  was,  at  this  time,  at  the  head  of  his  profession,  enjoying  a  full 
share  of  its  employments  and  emoluments.  The  war  was  now  at  his 
door.  The  military  ardour  of  1807,  which  was  strong  enough  then 
to  take  him,  if  occasion  offered,  to  Canada,  was  now  somewhat  tem 
pered  by  the  monitions  of  professional  and  domestic  duties.  The  idea 
of  the  legion  was  not  revived ;  Canada  was  committed  to  other  hands ; 
and  all  those  dreams  of  martial  glory,  which  had  once  captivated  his 
younger  imagination,  were  sobered  into  a  sensible  resolve  to  do  his 
duty  at  home,  as  a  citizen  soldier,  when  called  upon,  and  to  transfer 


300  WIRT  DECLINES  A  COMMISSION.          [1812—1813. 

his  aspirations  after  warlike  renown  to  those  whom  fortune  had  not 
yet  favoured  with  a  better  reputation. 

Some  intimation  was  given  to  Mr.  Madison  by  a  friend,  that  Wirt 
would  still  accept  a  commission  in  the  army.  This  led  him  to  write 
to  the  President  a  letter,  declining  such  an  appointment,  in  which  he 
stated,  that  "  however  strong  the  desire  to  enter  the  service  of  the 
country  actively,  the  situation  of  his  private  affairs  would  not  permit 
it.  Circumstanced  as  he  was,  such  a  step  would  be  a  sacrifice,  not 
called  for  by  the  posture  of  the  country,  and  wholly  incompatible  with 
his  duties  to  his  family." 

/  Thus  renouncing  a  purpose  which  he  had,  a  few  years  before,  che 
rished  with  so  much  zeal,  he  was  now  content  to  take  his  part  in  the 
scenes  around  him,  in  whatever  manner  he  might  be  able  to  make 
himself  useful.  A  portion  of  the  British  squadron  had,  at  one  time 
in  1813,  ascended  the  James  River  as  high  as  City  Point,  and  thereby 
aroused  the  capital  to  a  vivid  apprehension  of  an  attack.  At  this 
juncture,  Wirt  raised  a  corps  of  flying  artillery,  which,  consisting  of 
the  choicest  material  of  the  country,  was,  under  his  command,  brought 
into  an  excellent  state  of  discipline  and  efficiency — alas !  without  an 
opportunity  (as  we  may  say,  without  disparagement,  it  fortunately 
turned  out)  to  demonstrate  their  own  or  their  leader's  prowess  before 
the  enemy.  Richmond  survived  the  many  attacks  which  were  threat 
ened  without  being  made ;  and  was  favoured  with  the  most  satisfac 
tory  opportunities,  short  of  bloodshed,  to  evince  her  patriotism  and 
public  spirit.  Thus  be  it  ever,  in  all  future  wars ! 

The  valour  of  our  volunteer  soldiery,  which  has  latterly  worked 
such  miracles  upon  the  bloody  fields  of  Mexico,  was  not  less  confided 
in  in  the  war  of  1812,  though  exposed  at  that  time  to  a  much  severer 
probation,  before  the  veteran  soldiers  of  Wellington.  That  the  ex 
ploits  of  the  volunteers  of  that  day  were  not  so  brilliant  as  those  of 
the  latter  period,  we  may  attribute  not  less  to  the  character  of  the 
army  itself,  than  to  that  of  the  enemy  each  has  had  to  encounter. 
The  levies  of  1812  were  gathered  from  the  general  mass  of  the  popu 
lation,  more  actuated  by  the  common  sense  of  duty  in  the  crisis,  than 
by  any  predilection  for  military  adventure.  They  included,  therefore, 
citizens  of  all  ranks  and  pursuits,  taken  from  the  very  midst  of  their 


CHAP.  XX.]  VOLUNTEER  SOLDIERY.  301 

families  and  business,  with  all  the  dependencies  and  concerns  of  do 
mestic  life  yet  strongly  soliciting  their  care  and  protection.  They  re 
paired  to  the  field,  not  from  choice  so  much  as  from  a  sense  of  emi 
nent  necessity,  exacting  the  temporary  sacrifice  of  their  time  and  ser 
vice.  The  volunteers  of  Mexico,  on  the  contrary,  were  the  picked 
men  of  the  nation,  who,  devoting  themselves  to  a  service  more  than  a 
thousand  miles  from  home,  went  to  it  under  the  strong  impulse  of 
adventure  and  love  of  martial  life.  They  consisted  of  the  young,  the 
ardent  and  the  brave,  who,  for  the  time,  renounced  all  domestic  pur 
suits,  and  marched  to  the  field,  animated  by  the  hope  of  distinction, 
and  disenthralled  from  all  civil  cares  and  engagements.  Thus  fortified 
by  resolve,  stimulated  by  love  of  the  profession,  cheered  by  loud  ac 
clamations  of  friends,  unimpeded  by  domestic  solicitude,  and  filled 
with  the  ardour  and  courage  of  the  national  character,  they  more  re 
semble  the  chivalry  which,  a  few  centuries  ago,  assembled  around 
G-onsalvo  de  Cordova,  or  Gaston  de  Foix,  in  their  descents  upon  the 
fields  of  Italy,  than  they  do  any  army  of  modern  times.  The  skill, 
concert,  impetuous  valour  and  persevering  labour  of  their  assaults, 
will  be  the  theme  of  commendation  from  military  critics  in  centuries 
to  come;  whilst  the  brilliancy  of  their  victories  over  such  dispropor- 
tioned  numbers,  and  the  rapidity  of  their  conquest  of  the  strongholds 
of  Mexico,  will  be  regarded  as  the  marvels  of  the  age  in  which  they 
were  achieved. 

The  contests  of  the  regular  army  on  the  Canada  frontier,  in  the  war 
of  1812,  will  suffer  nothing  in  the  comparison  with  those  of  the  latter 
period.  The  laurels  won  by  the  youthful  general  at  Chippewa  and 
Lundy's  Lane,  will  retain  a  verdure  as  fresh  as  those  which  the  same 
chief  has  plucked  in  his  elder  day,  upon  the  plains  of  Mexico. 

Wirt's  professional  engagements  had  now  so  multiplied  upon  his 
hands  as  nearly  to  engross  all  his  time ;  and  the  reputation  following 
his  success  seems  to  have  so  far  gratified  his  ambition,  as  in  a  great 
degree  to  suspend  his  literary  projects,  or,  at  least,  to  restrict  them  to 
few  and  desultory  efforts.  The  Old  Bachelor,  the  greater  part  of 
which  had  been  completed  in  the  year  1811,  slumbered  through  all 
the  following  year,  and,  after  a  slight  endeavour  towards  a  revival, 
was  finally  disposed  of  in  1813.  The  Life  of  Patrick  Henry,  too,  was 
VOL.  L  — 26 


802  LIFE  OF  HENRY.  [1812-1813. 

found  to  be  an  enterprise  of  less  promise  than  at  first  it  seemed.  We 
shall  have  occasion  hereafter  to  notice  the  embarrassments  of  this 
task,  and  how  weary  the  author  became  of  it. 

In  a  letter  from  Mr.  Jefferson  to  him  upon  this  subject,  the  former 
expresses  a  difficulty  in  regard  to  the  collection  and  the  publication  of 
facts  respecting  Henry,  which  Wirt  had  already  felt.  In  answer  to 
this  letter,  Wirt  remarks:  "I  despair  of  the  subject.  It  has  been 
continually  sinking  under  rne.  The  truth,  perhaps,  cannot  be  pru 
dently  published  by  me  during  my  life.  I  propose,  at  present,  to  pre 
pare  it,  and  leave  the  manuscript  with  my  family.  I  still  think  it  a 
useful  subject,  and  one  which  may  be  advantageously  wrought,  not 
only  into  lessons  on  eloquence,  but  on  the  superiority  of  solid  and 
practical  parts  over  the  transient  and  gaudy  show  of  occasion.  I  wish 
only  it  had  been  convenient  to  you  to  enable  me  to  illustrate  and 
adorn  my  theme  by  a  short  portrait  of  Mr.  Henry's  most  prominent 
competitors." 

I  may  notice  here,  as  some  reference  to  the  event  will  be  made  in 
the  course  of  this  narrative,  that  Richmond  had,  in  the  last  week  of 
the  year  1811 — the  day  after  Christmas — been  visited  by  a  calamity 
of  overwhelming  horror,  in  the  burning  of  the  Theatre,  during  a  per 
formance  which  had  attracted  to  the  house  an  unusual  crowd  of  the 
morit  cherished  members  of  the  society  of  the  city.  Between  sixty 
and  a  hundred  persons  were  burnt  up  in  the  conflagration.  Amongst 
these  were  the  Governor  of  the  State,  George  TV.  Smith,  Mr.  Vena- 
ble,  the  President  of  the  Bank  of  Virginia,  Mr.  Botts,  the  gentleman 
whom  we  have  seen  engaged  as  one  of  the  counsel  of  Burr;  the  wife 
of  this  gentleman  and  his  niece,  with  many  other  ladies  most  en 
deared  to  the  community  of  Richmond — young  and  aged — were  also 
whelmed  in  this  awful  catastrophe.  Richmond  was  shrouded  in 
mourning,  with  scarce  a  family  in  it  that  had  not  suffered  some  be 
reavement.  So  melancholy  a  disaster,  we  may  suppose,  would  leave 
its  traces  upon  the  character  of  the  city  for  many  years.  It  was  long 
before  Richmond  resumed  that  cheerful  and  careless  tone  of  social 
enjoyment  for  which  it  was  previously  distinguished.* 

*  I  find  a  manuscript  reference  to  this  sad  event,  amongst  the  papers  of 
Mr.  Wirt,  in  which  he  has  detailed  some  of  the  particulars  attending  the 


CHAP.  XX.]         CARR  APPOINTED  CHANCELLOR.  303 

The  ensuing  letters  unfold  some  interesting  particulars  of  personal 
history,  making  occasional  references  to  the  incidents  of  the  war,  and 
presenting  some  few  evidences  of  the  literary  aspirations,  rather  than 
labours,  of  the  writer.  They  furnish,  besides,  agreeable  pictures  of 
the  contentment  and  cheerfulness  which  attend  a  prosperous  life. 

The  nomination  of  Judge  Carr  to  the  Bench,  by  the  Governor  anc!. 
Council,  required  the  ratification  of  the  Legislature.  In  this  proceed 
ing,  in  the  session  of  1812,  an  opposition  was  got  up  against  the  Judge 
sufficiently  strong  to  defeat  him.  During  the  year  in  which  he  had 
served  on  the  Bench,  it  was  universally  admitted  that  entire  satis 
faction  was  given  to  the  public — that,  in  fact,  the  office  was  admin 
istered  with  distinguished  ability.  The  opposition  is  said  to  have 
arisen  out  of  objections  of  a  purely  local  character,  which  touched 
what  was  supposed  to  be  the  claims  of  other  persons.  It  is  said,  that 
acknowledging  the  Judge's  merits,  and  with  a  special  purpose  to  retain 
him  in  the  Judiciary,  the  Legislature  created  a  new  Chancery  district, 
of  which  Winchester  was  the  seat  of  justice,  and  bestowed  the  ap 
pointment  to  it  upon  him.  This  appointment  he  promptly  accepted. 
It  compelled  him  to  change  his  residence  from  Charlottesville  to  Win 
chester.  The  change  seems  to  have  gone  hard  with  him  for  some 
time.  To  one  of  his  genial  temper  and  love  of  domestic  associations, 
such  a  breaking  up  of  settled  habits  and  separation  from  familiar 
faces,  was  rather  a  severe  tax  upon  his  affections.  This  will  explain 
the  occasion  of  the  next  letter. 

death  of  the  Governor.  I  extract  a  few  passages  : — "  On  the  fatal  night 
of  his  death,"  says  this  record,  "he  had  taken  his  wife  and  one  of;his  sons, 
about  nine  or  ten  years  old,  to  the  play.  At  the  cry  of  fire  he  led  Mrs. 
Smith  into  the  box  lobby;  and  recollecting  that  he  had  left  his  little  son 
behind  in  the  box,  he  told  her  to  remain  there  until  he  stepped  back  for  tho 
boy.  It  was  her  wish  to  do  so,  but  the  pressure  of  the  crowd  bore  her 
away.  When  the  Governor  returned,  his  wife  was  not  to  be  seen.  He 
hastened  down  with  the  boy,  and  having  placed  him  in  safety  on  the  out 
side  of  the  door,  returned,  it  is  supposed,  to  look  for  his  wife.  In  the  mean 
time,  she,  after  having  been  pressed  to  and  fro  by  the  waving  motion  of  the 
multitude,  was  fortunately  driven  near  a  window,  just  at  the  time  when  the 
word  was  given  to  'break  down  the  windows' — and  through  this,  by,  a  leap 
of  twelve  or  fifteen  feet,  she  made  her  escape  without  otiier  injury  than  a 
sprained  ankle  and  the  bruises  which  she  received  from  the  pressure  of 
the  crowd.  Her  husband,  unable  to  find  her,  perished  in  the  generoufc  and 
pious  pursuit." 


304  LETTER  TO  CARR.  [1812—1813. 

TO   JUDGE  CARR 

MONTEVIDEO,  Buckingham  Co.,  Nov.  12, 1812. 
MY  DEAR  FRIEND  : 

******  * 

Cabell  and  myself  went  down  at  the  beginning  of  the  month  to 
attend  the  Court  of  Appeals,  where,  among  a  large  packet  of  other 
letters,  I  found  your  affecting  favour  from  Winchester,  which  I  read 
to  him.  As  I  had  been  all  the  summer  absent  from  Richmond,  and 
had  then  but  a  few  days  to  stay  with  the  Court  of  Appeals,  for  whom 
T  had  also  to  prepare  my  statements,  &c.,  I  could  find  no  time  to  an 
swer  you  from  that  city  : — to  atone  for  it,  I  seize  the  first  hour  of  com 
posure  here,  to  commune  with  you. 

I  need  not  tell  you  that  I  enter  fully  into  your  situation  and  feel 
ings  ;  yet  I,  who  have  been  torn  so  often  from  neighbourhoods  and 
friends,  and  forced  to  make  new  settlements  among  strangers,  should 
not  have  felt  the  change  on  my  own  account,  so  acutely.  I  know, 
experimentally,  that  the  first  pangs,  on  these  occasions,  are  all  that 
we  have  to  endure.  Nature  soon  accommodates  us  to  every  change. 
A  soft  and  not  unpleasing  melancholy,  from  a  remembrance  of  the 
past,  now  and  then  recurs  in  the  pauses  of  business  and  social  inter 
course  ;  but  from  circumstances  and  situations  apparently  the  most  un 
promising  and  hopeless,  the  great  vis  medicatrix  natures  enables  us 
to  extract  not  merely  consolation,  but  amusement  and  happiness. 
We  become  acquainted  with  new  characters,  whose  oddities  divert  us ; 
whose  intellectual  adroitness  and  resources  interest  and  instruct  us; 
whose  amiable  qualities  and  kind  offers  warm  and  attach  our  hearts. 
A  difference  of  manners  may  keep  us  asunder  for  a  time,  like  the 
negative  and  positive  electricity  of  bodies  differently  charged ;  but  in 
tercourse  produces  an  assimilation,  and  instead  of  repelling,  we  begin 
mutually  to  attract ;  or  if  we  neither  acquire  the  manners  of  those 
among  whom  we  live,  nor  communicate  our  own  to  them,  yet  their 
peculiarities  soon  become  so  familiar  to  us,  that  we  are  not  conscious 
of  them,  but  look  at  once  through  them  to  the  heart  and  mind  of  the 
person. 

****** 

Now,  why  can  we  not  put  a  little  philosophical  force  upon  our 
selves,  and  anticipate  at  once  those  results  which  we  are  sure  nature 
will  ultimately  bring  about?  By  this  course,  we  shall  avoid  the 
painful  interval  between  the  first  repugnance,  and  the  accommodation 
of  habit.  For  example,  if,  giving  way  to  this  repugnance,  we  hold 
off,  shy  and  aloof,  we  shall  beget  equal  shyness  on  the  other  hand, 
and  the  interval  of  indifference  may  be  a  very  long  one, — if  it  does 
not  end  in  a  fixed  and  mutual  aversion.  If,  on  the  other  hand, 
in  instances  in  which  established  character,  or  our  own  judgment  of 


CHAIN  XX.]  LETTERS  TO  CARR.  305 

the  individual  warrants  it,  we  at  once  break  through  our  prejudices 
and  force  a  familiarity  and  intimacy,  we  generate  those  same  qualities 
in  strangers  towards  ourselves,  who  have  also  their  prejudices  against 
us  to  vanquish,  and  thus,  like  Scott's  stag,  "at  one  brave  bound  the 
copse  we  clear/'  &c.  &c., — "  which  &c.,  hath  much  learning  in  it." 

Why  may  you  not  form  new  friendships  there  ?  I  must  be  candid 
enough  to  tell  you,  that  I  feel  some  jealousy  at  this  suggestion,  my 
self,  and  do  not  want  you  to  love  any  new  friend  quite  so  well  as  I 
hope  you  do  me,  and  as  I  certainly  do  you.  It  is  my  magnanimity, 
therefore,  or  the  nobler  side  of  my  friendship,  that  suggests  this  con 
solation  to  you  for  those  friends  from  whom  you  have  been  separated. 
Against  these  suggestions,  you  may  urge  the  common  opinion  that 
ardent  friendship  cannot  be  formed  at  your  advanced  state  of  life. 
To  be  sure,  /  cannot  reason  on  this  point  experimentally — "  you  must 
go  to  some  one  older  than  me."  But  then,  I  am  informed  by  books, 
of  men  nearly  as  old  as  yourself,  who  have  formed  the  warmest  friend 
ships  :  for  example,  there  was  Walsh,  who  at  the  age  of  seventy,  con 
tracted  a  most  vehement  friendship  for  Alexander  Pope,  then  only 
sixteen  years  of  age,  which  lasted  through  life,  that  is,  through 
Walsh's  life.  And  Pope  himself,  when  sixty,  contracted  a  similar 
friendship  for  Warburton.  Examples  might  be  easily  multiplied  to 
show  the  physical  possibility  of  such  friendship.  I  have,  myself, 
formed  the  most  sincere  and  disinterested  friendship  for  at  least  two 
men,  old  enough  to  treble  my  years ;  and  I  am  convinced  that  I  shall 
have  for  Frank  Gilmer,  (who  you  know  is  a  member  of  my  family 
now,)  as  warm  a  friendship  as  if  he  were  my  brother. 

This  disparity  of  age  seems  to  be  necessary  to  bring  about  that 
equality  which  in  some  way  or  other,  must  be  the  basis  of  friendship. 
Where  equality  of  years  is  wanting,  the  partnership  must  be  rendered 
equal  in  some  other  way.  For  instance,  one  brings  youth  and  genius 
into  the  fund  •  the  other,  age  and  character.  Perhaps  a  better,  though 
a  less  artificial  solution  of  it  is,  that  the  one  or  the  other  must  be  in 
experienced  and  credulous ;  the  other,  conscious  of  his  own  purity. 

Two  old  men  do  not  form  these  friendships  :  reciprocally  aware  of 
the  fallacious  exterior  of  characters,  they  cannot  trust  each  other. 

*  *  *  #  *  * 
Fortunately  for  you,  the  tooth-ache  has  stopped  this  lecture. 

*  *  *  *  *  * 

Your  friend, 

WM.  WIRT. 

Carr  did  not  receive  this  letter  until  it  was  brought  to  him  enclosed 
in  the  following : 

20*  u 


306  LETTER  TO  JUDGE  CARR.  [18J2— 1813. 


TO  JUDGE  CARR. 

RICHMOND,  March  31,  1813. 

Very  well,  sir; — consume*  and  abuse  me  as  much  as  you  please. 
Throw  my  letter  away,  and  say  that  I  have  delayed  writing  till  all 
the  grace  of  the  act  is  gone ;  that,  now  you  have  become  acquainted 
in  Winchester  and  happy  in  your  new  acquaintance,  so  as  no  longer 
to  require  the  cheering  letters  of  your  old  friends,  I,  for  the  first  time, 
begin  to  write ;  that,  when  you  wished  me  to  write,  I  would  not ;  and 
that  when  you  no  longer  wish  me  to  write,  or  care  for  my  writing,  I 
pester  you  with  my  letters ;  that  I  have  played  by  you,  as  a  friend, 
pretty  much  such  a  part  as  Johnson  says  Chesterfield  played  by  him 
as  a  patron  :  "  Is  not  a  patron,  my  lord,  one  who  sees  his  client  strug 
gling  in  water  above  his  depth,  without  going  to  his  relief;  and  when 
he  has  reached  the  shore,  incumbers  him  with  his  needless  assistance  V 
This  is  the  thought, — I  pretend  not  to  quote  his  words.  Well ;  have 
you  got  cool  ?  Now  read  the  enclosed,  which  I  do  assure  you  was 
written  when  and  where  it  professes.  You  see,  then,  how  well  in 
clined  I  was,  to  have  done  my  duty  promptly  towards  you; 

the  necessity  of  my  hurrying  down  to 

Richmond,  where  the  Federal  Court  and  the  Court  of  Appeals  were 
sitting  together, — the  manner  in  which  I  have  been  kept  under  the 
lash,  by  the  Court  of  Appeals,  until  about  ten  days  ago, — the  circum 
stance  of  my  being  in  the  nineteenth  regiment,  which  has  been  called 
on  duty  and  placed  on  the  war  establishment, — not  having  been  dis 
charged  until  last  Saturday, — and  the  anxieties  generated  by  the 
vicinity  of  the  British ;  the  uncertainty  of  their  plans,  and  the  de 
fenceless  condition  of  the  State,  have,  in  succession,  held  me  "in 
durance  vile,"  unharmonising  me  for  that  sweet  correspondence  with 
you  which  I  so  much  enjoy,  in  peace  and  ease.  Come,  come ;  let 
your  choler  give  way ;  let  your  crest  fall ;  let  the  angry  blood  in  your 
cheeks  retire ;  let  your  cheeks,  themselves,  subside ;  and  do  not  look 
quite  so  much  like  Jupiter  Tonans,  when  he  "  inftat  ambas  luccas." 
So,  so.  Now  we  are  as  we  were,  and  I  will  mend  my  pen.  You 
know  the  Scotchman,  under  similar  circumstances,  cried  "halt  a  little, 
while  I  tak'  a  wee  pickle  o'  sneeshing." 

Sir  John  Borlase  Warren,  certainly  molliter  manus  imposuit,  for 
which  I  thank  him.  The  more  fool  he,  the  more  fortunate  we.  He 
might,  with  the  three  thousand  marines,  which  he  is  said  to  be  able 
to  detach  from  his  ships  without  weakening  their  defence  too  much, 
have  battered  and  burnt  down  our  cities  of  Norfolk  and  Richmond, 

*  There  are  several  references  in  the  letters  to  this  phrase  of  Carr's,  which 
seems  to  have  been  the  limit  to  which  his  kind  nature  would  allow  him  to 
go,  in  the  way  of  imprecation. 


CHAP.  XX.]  WRITES  A  COMEDY.  307 

have  plundered  our  banks  and  demolished  our  armory  and  the  archives 
of  the  nation.  He  has  waited  so  long,  that  now  we  do  not  fear  him , 
while  we,  by  no  means,  feel  ourselves  so  secure  as  to  lay  aside  our 
caution. 

*  *  #  -x-  #  *  # 

The  Old  Bachelor  is  in  the  bookbinder's  hands,  at  Baltimore,  and 
is  waiting  only  for  a  few  additional  numbers,  which  I  have  not  yet 
had  time  to  scribble ;  so  that,  you  see,  we  are  likely  "  to  float  together 
down  the  gutter  of  time)"  as  Sterne  says. 

Did  you  never  see  two  or  three  tobacco-worms  swept  along  by  the 
little  torrent  produced  by  a  sudden  shower  of  rain? — swept  along, 
with  all  their  treasures,  and  crawling  out,  half  drowned,  twenty  or 
thirty  yards  below  ?  Shall  our  book  have  a  longer  race,  or  we  a 
more  honourable  catastrophe? 

Now,  sir,  your  private  ear.  I  have  a  sentimental  drama  Qa  comedie 
larmoyante,)  nearly  finished,  which  will  be  quite  finished  this  spring, 
or  early  in  the  summer.  I  think  tolerably  well  of  it.  Green  and 
Twaits,  who  saw  three  acts  of  it  in  the  crude,  first  draught,  augured 
favourably  of  it.  Judge  Tucker,  the  only  other  person  who  has  seen 
it,  declared  himself  highly  gratified  by  the  perusal. 

The  players  are  anxious  to  get  it  from  me.  I  had  promised  to  give 
it,  when  finished,  to  Green's  daughter,  who,  poor  girl,  perished  in  the 
theatre.  But,  before  it  leaves  my  possession,  I  am  determined  to 
submit  it,  when  completed,  to  you,  and  to  be  decided  by  your  judg 
ment  entirely  as  to  its  fate,  because  I  know  you  love  me  too  well 
either  to  flatter  or  spare  me,  where  my  character  for  authorship  is 
concerned. 

I  want  to  know  your  opinion  now,  whether,  if  the  work  itself  be 
good,  the  circumstance  of  its  being  a  play  is  likely  to  do  me  any 
injury  with  the  world,  either  as  a  man  of  business  or  as  a  man  pre 
tending  to  any  dignity  of  character  ?  On  this  point,  I  am  dubious. 
For  example ; — how  would  it  act  on  the  character  of  such  men  as 
Jefferson,  or  Madison,  or  Monroe,  or  Marshall,  or  Tazewell,  to  have 
it  known  of  them  that  they  had  been  engaged  in  so  light  and  idle  a 
business  as  writing  a  play  ?  Will  you  weigh  this  question  thoroughly  ? 
At  one  moment,  I  think  it  would  let  them  down ;  at  ariothor,  that  it 
would  give  spirit  and  relief  to  the  greatness  of  their  characters ;  that 
is,  supposing  the  play  to  have  been  a  very  good  one. 

Talking  of  authorship,  what  if  I  do  hold  my  head  high  ?  "  Tut — 
a  boy  ! — Poh,  a  boy  ! — pshaw,  a  mere  boy  I"  So  no  more. 

Our  love  to  you  all. 

WM.  WIRT. 

We  have  not  Judge  Carr's  answer  to  the  questions  propounded  in 
the  last  clause  of  this  letter;  but;  from  the  correspondence  with 


308  LETTER  FROM  JUDGE  TUCKER.  [1812—1813. 

Judge  Tucker,  to  whom  the  same  questions  seem  to  have  been  ad 
dressed — (the  letter  of  Wirt  to  him  has  not  been  preserved) — I  am 
enabled  to  present  my  reader  with  a  reply  quite  worthy  of  preserva 
tion: 

"  You  ask,"  says  the  Judge,  "  how  far  a  discovery  that  you  have 
entered  the  dramatic  lists  may  affect  your  professional  character. 
Belles-lettres  and  the  Muses  have  been  too  little  cultivated  in  Ame 
rica,  or  cultivated  with  too  little  success  by  their  votaries  to  enable  us 
to  judge.  Trumbull,  the  author  of  McFingal,  was,  I  think,  a  lawyer. 
That  poem  rather  raised  the  opinion  of  his  talents.  It  is  entitled,  in 
my  opinion,  to  the  first  place  in  estimating  the  American  talent  for 
poetry.  Dwight's  ' Conquest  of  Canaan'  seems  to  have  advanced 
him,  in  his  own  quarter  of  the  Union,  at  least.  He  was  young  when 
he  wrote  it,  and  he  now  fills  the  papal  chair  of  taste  and  erudition,  as 
well  as  genius  and  religion,  in  New  England.  Humphreys,  the  aid 
of  Washington,  ventured  to  display  his  poetical  talent,  almost  as  soon 
as  the  war  was  ended.  His  pieces  were  well  received ;  and  he  has 
been  a  foreign  minister,  or  something  of  the  sort.  Barlow  has  come 
forth  in  epic  poetry,  borrowing  from  Tasso,  Milton,  and  the  author  of 
The  Lusiad.  His  character,  I  think,  has  not  been  advanced  by  it ; 
yet,  we  now  see  him  as  an  Envoy  abroad.  Should  he  fail  in  his  em 
bassy,  I  shall  not  be  surprised  to  hear  it  said,  it  might  have  been 
predicted  from  his  poem.  Burke  was  too  little  known  and  too  little 
reputed  for  his  Bethlehem  Grabor  (I  believe  that  was  the  name  of  his 
play,)  either  to  raise  or  lower  him.  These  are  all  the  instances  that 
occur  to  me  where  the  Muses  have  been  wooed  in  America  by  persons 
of  any  professional  standing.  My  own  apprehension  is,  that  a  taste 
for  the  belles-lettres,  including,  under  that  description,  dramatic  poetry 
as  well  as  all  others,  is  very  low  in  America  generally.  That  even 
though  any  such  production  should  please  for  the  moment,  or  continue 
to  please  a  little  longer  than  a  moment,  it  does  not  constitute  any 
thing  estimable  in  the  public  eye,  nor  advance  the  author  in  the 
public  estimation,  lut  may  have  the  contrary  effect.  To  apply  this 
to  a  man  of  any  profession,  if  the  author  be  a  person  who  has  inspired 
an  exalted  opinion  of  his  talents,  and  the  poem  be  given  to  the  world 
in  such  a  manner  as  to  appear  merely  as  a  jeu  d' esprit,  the  effusion 
of  a  leisure  moment,  and  without  any  view  to  profit  or  emolument;  or 


CHAP.  XX.]  THE  COMEDY.  309 

as  an  offering  at  the  shrine  of  party, — I  think,  in  such  a  case,  the 
public  would  regard  it  favourably,  and  as  an  evidence  of  a  variety  of 
genius  and  talent  capable  of  embellishment  beyond  the  professional 
walk.  If  there  be  nothing  in  the  composition  itself  below  the  stand 
ard  of  the  previous  public  opinion  of  the  author's  talents,  it  will  be 
not  only  well  received,  but  will  advance  him  in  the  general  estimation 
as  a  man  of  happy  genius.  Such  a  man  will,  like  Sheridan,  win  the 
approbation  of  those  who  have  taste  to  admire ;  and  those  who  want 
it;  will  pretend  to  admire.  He,  therefore,  runs  but  little  risk." 

These  are  the  opinions  of  a  competent  critic  in  1812.  We  may 
smile  at  the  sober  earnestness  of  the  question  and  the  gravity  of 
the  answer.  That  this  should  be  even  a  moot  point  at  that  day, 
would  seem  to  argue  that,  as  yet,  there  was  no  literary  public  in 
the  United  States;  at  least,  no  adequate  appreciation  of  literary 
talent.  That  Dr.  Johnson  might  write  a  tragedy,  or  Canning  delight 
in  witty  doggrel,  and  not  lose  caste  in  church  or  state,  we  may  infer, 
was  a  problem  to  excite  the  special  wonder  of  the  anxious  literary 
adventurers  of  the  generation  of  1812.  "We  have  seen  that  Wirt  was 
not  to  be  baulked  in  the  career  of  his  humour  by  these  doubts ;  for 
he  had  already  perpetrated  some  glaring  enormities  in  prose,  and  was 
now  actually  meditating  a  comedy.  This  comedy,  which  it  appears 
he  was  some  two  years  at  work  upon,  still  survives  amongst  his  manu 
scripts.  I  find  various  approbatory  comments  upon  it  in  the  letters 
of  his  friends  at  this  period, — especially  in  those  from  Judge  Tucker. 
It  was  called  "  The  Path  of  Pleasure,"  but  was  never  published  nor 
played, — from  a  secret  consciousness,  I  would  infer,  in  the  writer,  that 
it  might  not  safely  pass  the  ordeal  of  public  judgment.  Wirt  was  a 
better  critic  than  his  friends ;  and  most  likely,  upon  deliberate  review, 
after  the  fervour  of  composition  had  subsided,  came  to  a  determina 
tion  not  to  incur  the  hazard  of  that  disapproval  which,  in  the  matter 
of  a  theatrical  exhibition,  is  proverbially  the  most  painful  of  all  to 
which  an  author  can  be  exposed.  Whatever  ground  there  may  be  to 
question  how  far  professional  success  may  be  able  to  stand  with  the 
repute  of  elegant  scholarship,  there  can  be  little  room  for  debate  upon 
the  point  that  no  professional  man  may  very  safely  commit  his  repu 
tation  to  the  ordeal  of  facing  the  authorship  of  a  play  that  has  been 
damned.  I  do  not  say  that  this  would  have  been  the  fate  of  the  Path 


310  DRAMATIC  LITERATURE.  [1812—1813. 

of  Pleasure,  if  it  had  been  submitted  to  the  trial ;  but  public  judg 
ment  is  very  uncertain,  and  Wirt  himself  does  not  seem  to  have  had 
confidence  enough  in  his  production  to  be  willing  to  challenge  a  sen 
tence.  Dramatic  writing  is,  of  all  literary  composition,  the  most  dif 
ficult,  and  a  good  comedy  is  the  highest  product  in  this  art.  We  have 
a  dozen  respectable  tragedies  for  one  comedy  of  the  same  grade.  To 
paint  character  by  dialogue,  with  the  requisite  brevity,  wit,  and  adap 
tation  to  the  story,  which  comedy  requires ;  to  avoid  exaggeration  and 
caricature,  on  one  hand,  and  tame,  insipid  portraiture  on  the  other ;  to 
invent  a  plot  whch  shall  have  the  requisite  variety  of  incident  to  give 
it  interest,  and  yet  to  evolve  it  without  obscurity  or  confusion,  and  to 
carry  it  along  in  the  conversation  and  action  to  which  the  stage  limits 
the  author,  require  a  kind  and  degree  of  talent  which  is,  by  no  means, 
necessarily,  nor  even  ordinarily,  associated  with  the  powers  of  the  most 
accomplished  writers  or  speakers.  Even  poets,  and  the  most  skilful 
novelists, — those  who  have  been  most  conspicuous  for  the  force,  nature 
and  vivacity  of  their  dialogue, — have  failed  to  produce  good  comedy. 
Moore  and  Scott  are  signal  illustrations  of  this  fact,  and  we  might  add 
many  others  well  known  to  the  reader.  Whilst  it  is  equally  capable 
of  proof  that  the  best  dramatic  writers,  and  especially  in  the  depart 
ment  of  comedy,  have  attained  to  no  remarkable  distinction  in  what 
we  might  suppose  to  be  the  cognate  and  congenial  departments  of 
literature. 

That  Wirt  was  restrained  by  no  false  notion  of  dignity  from  this 
essay  in  the  dramatic  field,  we  may  well  believe  from  all  that  we  have 
seen  of  his  character.  That  the  public  was,  at  that  day,  absurdly 
prejudiced  upon  this  question  of  the  gravity  and  decorum  of  profes 
sional  life,  is  probable  enough.  It  has  been  often  remarked  by  foreign 
ers,  that  in  all  externals,  at  least,  ours  are  a  grave  and  even  a  satur 
nine  people :  that  there  is  a  certain  amount  of  make-believe  and  con 
strained  show  of  what  is  considered  the  propriety  of  place  and  voca 
tion,  apparent  in  the  deportment  of  our  people, — giving  to  them  a 
thoughtful  and  reserved  demeanour  in  society,  very  unlike  the  free 
and  careless  undress  of  social  life  in  Europe.  A  secretary  of  state  or 
a  counsellor  at  law  may  hardly  play  at  leap-frog  with  us,  without  find 
ing  hands  and  eyes  upturned  at  such  tomfoolery,  and  some  severe  com 
ments  touching  dignity  and  its  concomitants ;  whilst  European  society 


CHAP.  XX.]          GOOD-FELLOWSHIP  OF  RICHMOND.  311 

would  scarce  think  it  worth  a  comment,  except  in  the  wa/  of  kindly 
illustration  of  the  jocund  temper  which  not  even  the  cares  of  state  or 
the  hard  study  of  legal  quiddities  could  subdue.  Curran  at  the  head 
of  the  Monks  of  the  Screw,  and  Jeffreys  fomenting  the  waggeries  of 
the  Scotch  bar,  or  Napoleon  playing  a  part  in  private  theatricals,  are 
not  even  yet  quite  within  the  conception  of  the  American  public  and 
its  notions  of  "dignity."  Still  less  so  was  it  in  1812. 

Richmond,  perhaps,  is  entitled  to  be  regarded  as  less  affected  by 
this  national  quality  than  most  other  portions  of  the  country.  The 
community  of  that  city  have  been  rather  famous  for  good-fellowship, 
and, — what  may  be  said  in  their  commendation, — of  a  very  fair  tole 
ration  of  the  eccentricities  which  belong  to  the  practical  exemplifica 
tion  of  the  adage,  "dulce  est  desipere  in  loco."  The  memories  of 
their  private  associations,  and  especially  at  the  bar,  are  rich  with  good 
stories  and  exhibitions  of  lonhommie  that  have  provoked  many  a  laugh 
without  either  impairing  the  "  dignity  "  of  the  actors,  or  incurring  the 
rebuke  of  the  rigidly-proper,  who  there,  as  well  as  elsewhere,  have 
found  their  abode.  Amongst  these  memories,  the  present  generation 
recount,  with  an  affectionate  particularity,  the  many  gambols  of  the 
late  Chief  Justice — one  of  the  best  men  of  the  age — and  his  cronies 
and  associates  of  the  famed  Quoit  Club,  in  which  it  seems  to  have 
been  a  fundamental  canon  that  the  oldest  and  gravest  were  to  submit 
to  a  temporary  rejuvenation,  which  was  often  manifested  in  the  display 
of  the  prankishness  of  boys. 

Wirt  was  not  behind  his  compeers  in  this  temper.  I  have  seen 
some  letters  addressed  to  him  as  "*w  loving  Wirt,"  which  appella 
tion  by  no  means  belied  the  hilarity  of  his  nature.  There  were  many 
outbreaks  of  this  temper  at  the  bar,  which  are  yet  pleasantly  recalled 
by  the  fraternity.  One  of  them  we  have  in  an  anecdote  on  hand. 

Wickham  and  Hay  were  trying  a  cause  in  the  Court  at  Richmond. 
Wrickham  was  exceedingly  ingenious,  subtle,  quick  in  argument,  and 
always  on  the  alert  to  take  and  keep  the  advantage  by  all  logical  arts. 
Hay  was  not  remarkable  for  guarding  all  points,  and  was  sometimes 
easily  caught  in  a  dilemma.  Wickham  had,  on  this  occasion,  reduced 
him  to  the  choice  of  an  alternative  in  which  either  side  was  equally 
fatal  to  him.  "The  gentleman,"  said  he,  "may  take  which  ever 
horn  he  pleases."  Hay  was  perplexed,  and  the  bar  amused.  He 


'312  MR.  WARDEN.  [1812—1813. 

was  apt  to  get  out  of  temper  and  make  battle  on  such  occasions,  and 
sometimes  indulge  in  sharp  and  testy  expressions — showing  himself  a 
little  dangerous.  A  knowledge  of  this  characteristic  added  to  the 
sport  of  the  occasion.  Mr.  Warden,  one  of  the  most  learned,  witty 
and  popular  members  of  this  bar, — familiarly  known  to  them  as  Jock 
Warden, — for  he  was  a  Scotchman,  and  then  an  old  man, — remarked^ 
in  a  quiet  way,  "  Take  care  of  him,  he  has  hay  upon  his  horn !" 
Wirt  sitting  by,  with  full  appreciation  of  this  classical  witticism, 
forthwith  hitched  it  into  verse  in  the  following  epigram : 

Wickham  was  tossing  Hay  in  court 
On  a  dilemma's  horns  for  sport, 
Jock,  rich  in  wit  and  Latin  too, 
Cries,  "  Habet  foenum  in  cornu." 

The  tradition  of  the  bar  still  preserves  this  jeu  cPesprit,  in  memory 
of  that  palmy  day  of  social  brotherhood  which  was,  in  a  thousand 
other  forms,  cherished  and  embellished  by  Wirt  and  Warden,* 

*This  gentleman,  Mr.  John  Warden,  is  still  affectionately  remembered  at 
the  Richmond  bar.  He  was  a  man  of  high  accomplishment  in  general 
literature  and  science,  as  well  as  in  his  profession.  He  had  collected  a  fine 
library  of  rare  and  valuable  books,  which,  being  put  up  at  sale  after  his 
death,  were  eagerly  sought  after  and  purchased.  He  was  said  to  be  the 
most  homely  man,  both  in  face  and  figure,  to  be  found  in  the  society  with 
which  he  lived,  and  his  speech  was  marked  by  a  broad  Scotch  accent. 

During  the  Revolutionary  War,  he  was  once  summoned  before  the  House 
of  Delegates  of  Virginia,  to  make  atonement  for  some  disloyal, — or,  perhaps, 
too  loyal,  for  that,  I  believe,  was  his  offence, — words  uttered  by  him,  which 
had  given  umbrage  to  that  body.  It  was  the  custom,  then,  in  the  Virginia 
Legislature,  to  exact  of  offenders  against  their  dignity,  an  apology  to  be 
made,  kneeling  at  the  bar  of  the  House.  It  is  difficult  now  to  believe  that 
a  custom  so  absurd  and  slavish,  as  well  as  so  degrading  to  the  Legislature 
itself,  should  have  been  tolerated  in  any  of  the  American  States,  at  so  late 
a  period  as  that  of  the  Declaration  of  Independence,  especially  after  the 
reproof  it  had  received  in  the  British  Parliament  in  1751,  in  the  case  of 
Alexander  Murray,  and  the  abolition  of  it  by  that  body.  Still,  it  was  yet  in 
force  in  Virginia.  Mr.  Warden  was  obliged  to  comply,  which  he  did  with 
an  ill  grace: — "I  humbly  beg  pardon,"  he  said,  in  his  broadest  Doric,  "of 
this  honourable  House: — and  a  domned  dirty  house  it  is,"  he  added,  as  he 
rose  slowly  and  awkwardly,  with  a  surly  look,  and  brushed  the  dust  from 
his  knees. 

He  was  once  relating  to  a  circle  of  friends  the  gratification  he  had  enjoyed, 
at  a  bait  in  Richmond,  in  the  society  of  a  beautiful  woman,  a  distinguished 
belle  of  that  time.  In  attempting  to  describe  her  attractions  of  face  and 
figure,  arid  her  gracefulness  of  motion,  he  concluded  a  vivid  portraiture 
which  he  had  drawn,  by  an  attempt  at  personal  illustration  which  was  too 


CHAP.  XX.] 


LETTER  TO  CARR.  313 


"Wickham  and  Hay  and  their  comrades,  who  gave  a  distinctive  tone 
to  the  society  of  Richmond,  and  rendered  it,  at  that  day,  one  of  the 
most  attractive  cities  in  the  Union. 

I  have  said  that  the  Old  Bachelor  was  not  finished  until  1813. 
An  interval  of  eighteen  months  had  passed  between  the  publication 
of  the  greater  portion  of  these  essays  and  the  last  few  numbers.  The 
author  was  getting  tired  of  it,  and  found  a  more  pleasant  occupation 
in  other  subjects.  He  adverts  to  this  in  his  next  letter. 

TO   JUDGE   CARR. 

RICHMOND,  April  30,  1813. 
FRIEND  OF  MY  YOUTH  : 

*  *  *  *  *  *  * 

I  admit  the  justice  of  your  charge  as  to  my  scribbling  capriciousness, 
and  yet  I  know  that^/mis  coronal  opus,  too.  But  as  the  Old  Bachelor, 
there  was  nojinis  naturally  growing  out  of  the  scheme.  It  was  end 
less  ;  each  essay  being  a  whole  in  itself. — I  am  dispirited,  too,  by  the 
little  effect  such  things  produce.  I  did  not  begin  that  business  for 
fame.  I  wrote  in  the  hope  of  doing  good,  but  my  essays  dropped 
into  the  world  like  stones  pitched  into  a  mill-pond ;  a  little  report 
from  the  first  plunge ;  a  ring  or  two  rolling  off  from  the  spot ;  then, 
in  a  moment,  all  smooth  and  silent  as  before,  and  no  visible  change 
in  the  waters  to  mark  that  such  things  had  ever  been. 

Writing  on;  under  such  circumstances,  was,  I  confess,  a  dragging, 
heavy,  nauseous  work ;  and,  unless  a  man  write  con  amore,  he  cannot 
do  it  well.  As  to  doing  it  doggedly,  I  should  hold  myself  a  dog  to 
do  it, — yea,  a  very  turn-spit.  But,  as  Ritchie  desires  it,  and  has  gone 
to  some  expense  about  the  bauble,  I  will  turn  the  spit  for  five  or  six 
revolutions  more,  and  then  bid  the  Old  Bachelor  adieu  until  I  sec 
how  the  volume  takes.  If  it  has  a  run,  I  shall  have  the  more  spirit 
to  work  off  another  volume,  and  complete  something  like  a  moral  and 
literary  scheme, — a  whole ; — but  thereafter  as  it  may  be. 

As  to  the  novus  hospes,  the  larmoyante,  alias  weeper,  you  have 
guessed  right,  in  part;  but  I  began  that  in  the  view  of  adapting  the 
characters  to  the  company  that  was  here.  One  was  for  Greene,  one 

ludicrous  to  be  forgotten.  He  assumed  what  he  intended  to  be  a  gentle 
and  winning  expression  of  countenance,  and  then,  with  a  sidelong  glance 
of  the  eye,  threw  his  ungainly  figure  into  an  attitude  designed  to  convey 
the  idea  of  perfect  elegance  and  grace,  and  said,  "to  give  you  some  con 
ception  of  her  gesture  and  her  manner,  she  looked  just  so/"  The  echo  of 
the  laugh  that  followed  this  grave  effort  at  representation,  has  not  entirely 
died  away  yet. 

VOL.  I. —  27 


314  THE  COMEDY.  [1612-1813. 

for  his  wife,  one  for  T waits,  one  for  Mrs.  Clark,  and  so  on.  But 
when  that  company  was  dispersed  by  the  destruction  of  the  theatre, 
and  finally  dissolved  by  their  subsequent  miscarriages  in  Charleston,  I 
had  the  less  inclination  to  carry  it  on,  for  I  knew  that  the  various 
parts  required  the  peculiar  powers  of  those  for  whom  they  were 
drawn  *}  and,  not  knowing  into  whose  hands  they  might  fall,  nor,  of 
course,  how  they  might  be  marred  and  the  author  damned,  I  was  in 
no  hurry  to  purchase  such  a  catastrophe.  But  Judge  Tucker,  to 
whom  I  showed,  in  confidence,  the  acts  that  were  finished,  has  put 
up  my  courage,  and  I  expect  to  close  the  affair  before  the  spring  is 
closed. 

I  shall  expose  it  to  you  in  the  perfect  confidence  that  you  will  not 
let  me  expose  myself  by  making  it  public,  if  you  see  that  there  is 
danger  in  it ;  and  I  now  begin  to  fear  there  is,  for  I  wished  to  consult 
Frank  Gilmer  on  some  incidents  which  I  thought  of  introducing,  and, 
to  qualify  him  to  judge,  gave  him  the  acts  that  were  finished  to  read. 
This  was  about  a  week  ago.  He  reads  a  piece  of  a  scene  at  a  sitting, 
and  puts  it  away  to  take  up  a  review  or  a  newspaper,  or  something 
else  of  equal  importance :  all  which  is,  to  me,  strong  proof  that  there 
is  but  little  interest  in  the  affair.  I  do  not  think  very  highly  of  it 
myself.  There  are  parts  of  it  that  please  me ;  but  the  scenes  are  not 
connected  with  lightness  and  grace,  and  in  the  toute  ensemble,  I  fear 
it  is  rather  ponderous;  but  of  all  this  you  shall  judge,  and  if  you 
barely  call  it  tolerable,  I  know  the  rest,  and  shall  abandon  it  without 
a  blush  or  a  murmur.  I  am  sure  that  that  kind  of  composition 
requires  not  only  peculiar  talent,  but  an  intimate  knowledge  of  the 
stage,  and  a  training  in  dramatic  authorship  particularly. 

"  Produce  you  a  comedy  equal  to  Sheridan's  !"  A  pretty  requisi 
tion,  truly !  Sheridan's !  One  of  the  first,  if  not  the  very  first 
comedy  in  the  English  language !  And  the  work,  too,  of  a  man 
whose  genius  is  almost  unrivalled  in  the  old  world,  much  more  in  the 
new!  None  of  your  fun, — "none  of  your  comments,  Mr.  Carr !" 
You  had  better  require  me,  next,  to  produce  such  speeches  as  Erskine's 
and  Curran's,  or  such  legal  investigation  as  Mansfield's  and  Hard- 
wicke's,  or  such  tragedies  as  Shakspeare's,  or  such  histories  as  Ro 
bertson's.  No,  sir  !  The  affair  being  homespun,  would,  I  thought, 
pass  very  well,  in  these  patriotic  times,  without  equalling  the  European 
manufacture. 

I  know  that  it  is  superior  to  some  English  plays  of  which  it  is 

said,  in  the  British  theatre,  that  they  were  acted  at  Drury  Lane  or 

Co  vent  Garden,  as  the  case  may  be,  with  unbounded  applause ;  but 

as  to  its  equalling  the  best  of  them,  the  brat  has  no  such  pretensions. 

*  #  *  #  #  * 

Your  wife's  displeasure  at  my  not  writing,  I  resent  (as  Boyle  says) 
with  the  liveliest  gratitude,  and  I  am  sincerely  obliged  to  you  for 
leading  her  to  think  me  of  so  much  consequence. 


CHAP.  XX.]  THE  BIOGRAPHY  OF  HENRY.  315 

This  is  a  poor  return  for  your  long  kind  letter ;  but  you  are  good- 
natured,  and  must  therefore  expect  to  be  imposed  on. 
We  all  join  in  love  to  you. 

Your  ever  affectionate  friend, 

WM.  WIET. 

The  scheme  of  writing  biography  was  yet  kept  alive,  as  a  project 
of  future  accomplishment.  That  scheme,  as  the  reader  is  aware,  em 
braced  the  purpose  of  a  series  of  lives  of  the  most  eminent  Virginians. 
It  ultimately  resulted  in  the  production  of  the  volume  containing  the 
biography  of  Henry.  The  rest  of  the  plan  was  abandoned.  The 
motives  which  led  to  this  restriction  of  the  scheme,  are  most  pro 
bably  those  which  are  suggested  in  the  following  letter  of  Judge 
Tucker,  whom  Wirt  had  frequently  consulted  on  the  subject.  The 
Judge,  as  we  have  remarked,  was  a  man  of  letters,  of  extensive  read 
ing  and  observation,  and  one  who  had  had  many  opportunities  to  be 
come  acquainted  with  the  principal  personages  embraced  in  the  bio 
graphical  scheme.  The  letter  of  Wirt  to  him  upon  this  occasion,  I 
have  not  seen.  It  is  probable  it  was  not  preserved.  But  this  reply 
to  it,  contains  some  just  remarks  upon  the  difficulties  belonging  to  the 
task  in  view,  and  which  were  doubtless  felt  by  Wirt,  in  the  further 
contemplation  of  this  scheme,  to  an  extent  which  induced  the  abandon 
ment  of  his  purpose. 

ST.  GEORGE  TUCKER  TO  WM.  WIRT. 

WILLIAMSBURG,  April  4,  1813. 
MY  DEAR  SIR  : 

-*  #•  #•  •*  •*  -x- 

American  biography,  at  least  since  the  conclusion  of  the  peace  of 
1783,  is  a  subject  which  promises  as  little  entertainment  as  any  other 
in  the  literary  world.  Our  scene  of  action  is  so  perfectly  domestic, 
as  to  afford  neither  novelty  nor  variety.  Even  the  biographer  of 
Washington  has  been  reproached  with  imposing  upon  his  readers  the 
history  of  a  nation,  instead  of  the  life  of  an  individual.  Parson 
Weems  has,  indeed,  tried  to  supply  the  defect ;  but  I  never  got  fur 
ther  than  half  the  first  paragraph  : — "  G-eorge  Washington,  (says  that 
most  renowned  biographer,)  the  illustrious  founder  of  the  American 

Nation,  was  the  first  son  of Washington,  by  a  second  marriage  : 

a  circumstance,  (says  this  profound  divine,  moralist  and  biographer,) 
of  itself  sufficient  to  reconcile  the  scruples  of  tender  consciences 
upon  that  subject."  I  do  not  pretend  that  I  have  given  you  a  literal 


316  LETTER  FROM  JUDGE  TUCKER.  [1812—1813. 

transcript  of  the  passage ;  but,  I  believe  the  substance  is  correct.  I 
shut  the  book  as  soon  as  I  had  read  it,  and  have  no  desire  to  see  any 
more  of  it. 

This  leads  me  to  notice  that  part  of  your  letter  which  relates  to  the 
subject  of  biography.  How  would  you  be  able  to  give  any  entertain 
ment  to  your  readers,  in  the  Life  of  Patrick  Henry,  without  the  aid 
of  some  of  his  speeches  in  the  General  Assembly,  in  Congress,  in 
Convention,  or  in  the  Federal  Court  ?  What  interest  could  be  ex 
cited  by  his  marrying  a  Miss ,  and  afterwards  a  Miss  D ; 

and  that  somebody,  whom  I  will  not  condescend  to  name,  married  one 
of  his  daughters,  &c.,  &c.,  &c.  No  human  being  would  feel  the 
smallest  interest  in  such  a  recital ;  and,  I  never  heard  any  thing  of 
him,  except  as  connected  with  the  public,  that  could  amuse,  for  a 
moment.  The  same  may  be  said  of  Lee,  Pendleton  and  Wythe  ;  and 
the  same  may  be  said  of  every  other  man,  of  real  merit,  in  Virginia. 
They  have  all  glided  down  the  current  of  life  so  smoothly,  (except  as 
public  men,)  that  nobody  ever  thought  of  noticing  how  they  lived,  or 
what  they  did ;  for,  to  live  and  act  like  gentlemen,  was  a  thing  once 
so  common  in  Virginia,  that  nobody  thought  of  noticing  it. 

It  is  clear  to  my  apprehension,  that  unless  a  man  has  'been  distin 
guished  as  an  orator,  or  a  soldier,  and  has  left  behind  him  either  copies 
or  notes  of  his  speeches,  or  military  exploits,  that  you  can  scarcely 
glean  enough  out  of  his  private  life,  though  he  may  have  lived  beyond 
his  grand  climacteric,  to  fill  half  a  dozen  pages,  that  any  body  would 
trouble  themselves  to  read. 

I  have  known  several  characters,  whose  conduct,  both  in  public  and 
private  life,  I  have  esteemed  models  of  human  perfection  and  excel 
lence  :  John  Blair,  General  Thomas  Nelson,  John  Page  and  Beverly 
Randolph,  were  men  of  the  most  exalted  and  immaculate  virtues.  I 
knew  them  all  well,  nay,  intimately  ,•  yet,  for  the  soul  of  me,  I  could 
not  write  ten  pages  of  either,  that  would  be  read  by  one  in  fifty. 
Colonel  Innes  may  be  compared  to  an  eagle  in  the  air.  You  looked 
up  at  him  with  admiration  and  delight;  but,  as  Solomon  says,  there 
are  no  traces  of  his  exalted  and  majestic  flight  left  behind.  The  only 
shadow  of  him  that  remains,  is  Robertson's  abridgment  of  his  speech 
in  the  Convention  of  Virginia,  in  1788.  That  may  be  compared  to 
the  sparks  which  issue  from  a  furnace,  which  is  itself  invisible. 

I  think  it  much  to  be  regretted,  that  such  men  as  I  have  mentioned 
above  should  descend  to  the  grave,  and  be  forgotten  as  soon  as  the 
earth  is  thrown  upon  their  coffins.  But  so  it  is,  my  friend.  Literary 
characters  may  leave  their  works  behind  them,  as  memorials  of  what 
they  were ;  soldiers  may  obtain  a  niche  in  the  temple  of  Fame,  by 
some  brilliant  exploit;  orators,  whose  speeches  have  been  preserved, 
will  be  remembered  through  that  medium ;  judges,  whose  opinions 
have  been  reported,  may  possibly  be  known  to  future  judges  and 
members  of  the  bar ;  but  the  world  cares  little  about  them  •  and  if 


CHAP.  XX.]  BIOGRAPHICAL  WRITING.  317 

they  leave  no  reports,  or  meet  with  no  reporter  to  record  their  opi 
nions,  &c.,  they  sink  into  immediate  oblivion.  I  very  much  doubt  if 
a  single  speech  of  Richard  H.  Lee's  can  be  produced  at  this  day. 
Nevertheless,  he  was  the  most  mellifluous  orator  that  ever  I  listened 
to.  Who  knows  any  thing  of  Peyton  Randolph,  once  the  most  popu 
lar  man  in  Virginia,  Speaker  of  the  House  of  Burgesses,  and  Presi 
dent  of  Congress,  from  its  first  assembling  to  the  day  of  his  death  ? 
Who  remembers  Thompson  Mason,  esteemed  the  first  lawyer  at  the 
bar  ? — or  his  brother,  George  Mason,  of  whom  I  have  heard  Mr.  Ma 
dison  (the  present  President)  say,  that  he  possessed  the  greatest  talents 
for  debate  of  any  man  he  had  ever  seen,  or  heard  speak.  What  is 
known  of  Dabney  Carr,  but  that  he  made  the  motion  for  appointing 
committees  of  correspondence  in  1773  ?  Virginia  has  produced  few 
men  of  finer  talents,  as  I  have  repeatedly  heard.  I  might  name  a 
number  of  others,  highly  respected  and  influential  men  in  their  day. 
The  delegates  to  the  first  Congress,  in  1774,  were  Peyton  Randolph, 
Edmund  Pendleton,  Patrick  Henry,  George  Washington,  Richard  H. 
Lee,  Richard  Bland  and  Benjamin  Harrison.  Jefferson,  Wythe  and 
Madison  did  not  come  in  till  afterwards.  This  alone  may  show  what 
estimation  the  former  were  held  in :  yet  how  little  is  known  of  one- 
half  of  them  at  this  day !  The  truth  is,  that  Socrates  himself  would 
pass  unnoticed  and  forgotten  in  Virginia,  if  he  were  not  a  public  cha 
racter,  and  some  of  his  speeches  preserved  in  a  newspaper :  the  latter 
might  keep  his  memory  alive  for  a  year  or  two,  but  not  much  longer. 
Instead  of  an  attempt  at  what  might  be  called  a  biographical  ac 
count  of  any  of  these  persons,  perhaps  a  delineation  of  their  charac 
ters  only,  with  here  and  there  a  speech  or  an  anecdote,  might  answer. 
But  anecdotes  which  might  entertain,  occur  so  seldom  in  private  life, 
in  Virginia,  that  they  may  be  truly  said  to  be 

"  Rari  nantes  in  gurgite  vasto." 

Upon  the  whole,  I  am  inclined  to  think,  biography  in  Virginia 
would  at  present  be  a  hopeless  undertaking,  although  a  very  interest 
ing  selection  might  be  made  of  Virginia  worthies,  whose  general  cha 
racters  deserve  to  be  remembered  and  transmitted  to  the  latest  pos 
terity.  But  the  misfortune  is,  that  few  remain  among  us  who  have 
known  and  marked  the  outlines  which  ought  to  be  traced ;  and  still 
fewer  are  capable  of  giving  the  rudest  sketch  of  them.  I  have  re 
peatedly  wished  that  my  talent  lay  that  way ;  but,  I  feel  a  thorough 
conviction  that  it  does  not.  If  we  lived  together,  and  in  a  daily  in 
tercourse,  I  could,  perhaps,  from  time  to  time,  recollect  enough  of 
such  men  as  I  have  mentioned,  and  some  others,  to  enable  you  to 
draw  an  outline  of  each,  which  you  might  fill  up  at  leisure,  from  your 
own  resources  or  the  communications  of  others.  But  were  I  to  take 
up  my  pen  for  that  purpose,  I  should  only  betray  my  own  incom- 
petency. 


318  ALARM  AT  RICHMOND.  [1812—1813. 

You  must  be  tired  of  this  subject,  from  which  I  shall  turn  away  to 
the  "Path  of  Pleasure/'  I  rejoice  that  you  propose  to  resume  it, 
and  make  little  doubt  you  will  once  more  acquire  laurels  in  it,  —  or, 
as  a  gamester  would  say  —  "  throw  doublets  a  second  lime."  To  be 
serious,  I  trust  you  will  resume  it,  pursue  it  ardently,  and  arrive  at  a 
speedy  and  happy  conclusion  and  termination  of  it.  When  finished, 
I  beg  to  be  favoured  with  a  sight  of  it  as  early  as  possible,  and  pledge 
myself  to  do  my  best  for  a  prologue  and,  possibly,  an  epilogue  too. 
But  I  must  have  the  play,  itself,  with  me  at  the  time,  to  aid  my 
imagination. 

*  *  #  %  #  *  # 

Believe  me  ever,  most  warmly  and  most  sincerely, 

Your  friend, 

S.  O.  TUCKER. 

We  have  now  some  pictures  of  the  war — an  alarm  at  Richmond, 
in  this  extract  from  a  letter  to  Mrs.  Wirt,  who  is  at  Montevideo. 


RICHMOND,  June  29,  1813. 
*  *  *  *  *  *  * 

I  thank  heaven,  with  heartfelt  gratitude,  that  you  have  escaped  the 
idle  panic  into  which  the  city  was  thrown  on  yesterday  about  twelve 
o'clock.  I  was  at  the  market-house,  attending  a  common  hall — when 
we  were  broken  up  by  the  violent  ringing  of  the  alarm-bell.  The 
first  idea  that  bolted  into  my  mind  was,  that  our  old  castle  was  on 
fire  ] — but  before  I  had  crossed  the  market-bridge,  an  alarm  cannon 
was  fired  on  the  capitol  hill — then  another — and  another.  Here  was 
the  complete  signal  of  invasion.  The  effect  was  such  as  you  may  con 
ceive.  The  signal  was  perfectly  understood ; — every  man  had  to  rush 
with  his  musket,  to  the  square : — even  the  "  silver  greys"  [and  parson 
Blair  among  them]  flew  to  arms.  The  report  ran  that  the  British 
were  at  Rocket's — and  we  had  heard  from  an  authentic  source,  that 
they  had  disgraced  themselves  at  Hampton,  by  excesses  more  atrocious 
and  horrible  than  ever  before  befel  a  sacked  town  —  of  a  nature  so 
heart-sickening,  that  I  do  not  choose  to  describe  them  to  you : — they 
even  excited  the  negroes  to  join  them  in  these  brutal  excesses.  What, 
think  you,  must  have  been  the  terrors  and  agonies  of  the  women  here, 
on  the  report  that  the  same  enemy  was  in  their  town  ?  Doctor 
Foushee  applied  to  me  for  our  carriage  to  take  his  daughters  to  Wil 
liam  Carter's,  in  Caroline  county,  to  which  I  cheerfully  agreed. 
Wagons  were  moving  furniture  from  all  parts  of  the  town ! — but  I 
believe  no  ladies  moved — for  before  they  could  prepare,  the  panic  was 
dissipated.  McR  *  *  came  rushing  on  the  square  with  a  pistol  in 
each  hand  crying  out,  "where  are  they,  where  are  they?"  to  which 
the  Governor  answered,  that  they  were  at  City  Point ; — and  Me 


CHAP.  XX.]  THE  FLYING  ARTILLERY.  319 

disposed  of  his  pistols  as  soon  as  ho  could.  It  turned  out  that  the 
British  had  ascended  the  river  as  high  as  City  Point,  which  is  about 
ten  miles  below  our  works  and  army  at  Hood's,  that  they  were  slowly 
ascending  the  river ; — and  the  regiment  thus  suddenly  called,  was  dis 
missed  till  six  o'clock  this  evening.  I  thought  it  not  imprudent  to 
get  all  your  plate  together,  and  pack  up  my  books  for  a  travel,  if 
another  alarm  should  take  place ; — which  I  did.  But  we  heard  no 
more  of  the  enemy  until  this  morning,  when  we  were  informed,  by  an 
express,  that  they  had  gone  back  again.  Amidst  the  alarm  and  un 
certainty,  however,  the  Governor  and  field-officers  were  clamorous 
and  importunate  for  a  company  of  flying  artillery ;  and  I  could  not 
resist  their  importunities,  without  submitting  myself  to  the  censure 
of  indifference  at  least.  So,  I  raised  a  company  for  the  defence  of  the 
town  and  neighbourhood — and  a  most  splendid  one  it  is,  amounting 
to  near  a  hundred  picked  men.  Although  convinced  that  we  shall 
have  nothing  to  do,  this  same  company  will  prevent  my  seeing  you 
for  some  weeks — for  my  company  must  be  trained  and  made  effective 
and  fit  for  the  field  before  I  ought  to  leave  them. 

******* 

Your  affectionate  husband, 

WM.  WIRT. 

TO   JUDGE   CARR. 

MONTEVIDEO,  Buckingham  Co.,  August  23,  1813. 
MY  DEAR  FRIEND: 

Let  us  waste  no  time  in  apologies  for  not  writing.  It  is  enough 
for  you  to  know  that  you  have  lived  in  my  heart's  core  for- seventeen 
years,  and  that  the  roots  by  which  you  have  taken  hold  of  me,  have 
become  stronger  with  every  year. 

As  a  friend,  I  am  not  conscious  that  you  have  any  right  to  reproach 
me,  except  that  I  am  an  irregular,  and  if  you  please,  a  lazy  corre 
spondent.  This  is  the  single  blot  in  my  escutcheon;  and  I  am  not 
very  sure  that  you  do  not  bear  the  same  reproach,  so  that  this  is  a  new 
point  of  congeniality,  and,  of  course,  of  attraction.  If  those  who 
have  been  miserable  together,  love  each  other  the  more  on  that  ac 
count,  why  not  those  who  have  been  lazy  together  ? 

******* 

You  would  know  what  I  have  been  doing  this  summer  ?  Why, 
reading  newspapers,  mustering  in  the  militia,  hearing  alarm-bells  and 
alarm-guns,  and  training  a  company  of  flying  artillery,  with  whom,  in 
imagination,  I  have  already  beaten  and  captured  four  or  five  different 
British  detachments  of  two  or  three  thousand  each.  "Silent  leges 
inter  arma" — silent  musa  quoque — unless  it  be  the  muse  of  Tyrtaeus, 
who,  as  Tom  Divers  says,  is  one  of  those  cattle  I  don't  suffer  to  speak 
to  me. 


320  EXCITEMENTS  OF  THE  WAR.  [1812—1813. 

Talking  of  Tyrtaeus,  I  never  saw  his  fragments  till  lately.  They 
are  most  noble  productions ;  and  supposing  them  to  have  been  sung, 
accompanied  by  instrumental  music,  in  an  army  marching  to  battle,  I 
believe  firmly  in  the  effects  which  history  ascribes  to  them.  The 
author  of  the  Marseilles  Hymn,  I  suspect,  had  read  Tyrtseus.  There 
is  a  great  analogy  in  the  spirit  of  the  productions :  the  latter,  I  have 
no  doubt,  was  suggested  by  the  former. 

I  wish  you  would  get  the  minor  poets,  which  you  may  do  in  Win 
chester,  I  suppose,  and  read  Tyrtasus.  If  your  G  reek  is  rusty,  there 
is  a  Latin  translation ;  but  in  several  of  the  most  beautiful  passages, 
it  is  defective,  I  think,  so  far  as  my  little  remaining  Greek  informs 
me.  You  will  enjoy  him,  I  predict,  highly. 

You  have  heard  all  about  our  Richmond  alarms — "the  whole 
truth,"  as  Pope's  witness  said,  "and  more,  too." 

My  wife  and  children  were  out  of  town.  They  were  here ;  but  I 
was  "in  the  thick  of  the  throng."  There  was  nothing  wanting  but 
composure.  We  should  have  fought  like  lions ;  but  from  the  sudden 
ness- and  agitation  of  the  alarm,  it  struck  me  that  we  should  not  fire 
well,  at  least  for  the  first  two  or  three  rounds.  We  beat  our  fore 
fathers,  as  militia.  I  mean  no  disrespect  to  them  whom  I  so  much 
revere,  but  the  fact  is  so,  and  it  is  very  easily  accounted  for  consist 
ently  with  their  honour. 

We  have  breathed,  for  thirty  years,  the  proud  spirit  of  independence, 
and  in  this  spirit  we  begin  the  war.  They,  on  the  contrary,  were 
warring  against  the  habit  of  subjection,  and  were  fighting  against 
some  of  the  strongest  tendencies  of  their  own  hearts  in  fighting  against 
their  king.  They  were  crushed,  too,  by  conscious  poverty,  and  the 
almost  entire  destitution  of  all  the  means  of  war.  We,  on  the  con 
trary,  are  rich,  and  armed  cap  a  pie.  No  wonder,  therefore,  that  we 
have  more  confidence,  pride  and  courage, 

What  do  you  think  of  young  Croghan's  defence  of  Lower  San- 
dusky  !  He  is,  by  land,  exactly  what  Decatur,  Lawrence,  Hull  and 
Bainbridge  are  at  sea ;  the  very  counterpart  of  their  daring  spirits. 
It  is  exactly  the  spirit  which  Bonaparte  displayed  at  Lodi :  and  if 
Croghan's  intellect  equals  his  courage,  it  will  only  be  the  want  of  op 
portunity  which  will  stop  him  short  of  the  summit  of  martial  renown. 

-X-  •*  -5f  #•  *  •* 

My  family  are  all  here — in  health  and  spirits.  Laura  is  now  writ 
ing  her  Mair's  exercise  in  my  study,  a  room  in  the  third  story,  about 
sixty  feet  from  the  ground,  which  opens  on  the  mountains — where  I 
teach  my  children,  and  sit  and  read,  and  write  rarely.  Writing 
requires  a  solitude  and  self-possession  which  my  children  will  not 
allow  me. 

Laura  is  reading  Virgil.  You  see  I  stick  to  my  Latin  system.  I 
will  try  it  with  her,  taking  care  to  leave  her  time,  between  this  and 
seventeen,  for  those  accomplishments  which  she  cannot  do  without. 


CHAP.  XX.]  JUDGE  CARR'S  SUCCESS.  321 

Robert  is  delving  away  at  Latin  too.  He  is  beginning  to  parse, 
which  is  a  thing  he  hates  as  bad  as  Coalter's  man  did  something 
else. 

My  twins, — were  you  to  see  them  playing  together  on  a  sheet  spread 
on  the  floor,  so  healthy  and  so  sweet. — -don't  talk,  sir  ! 

My  wife  is  in  uncommon  health,  but  down-hearted  because  of  the 
flying-artillery,  which  she  considers  a  boyish  freak,  unfit  for  the  father 
of  six  unprovided  children. 

Our  love  attend  you  all. 

Your  friend,  as  ever,  till  death. 

WM.  WIRT. 


TO   JUDGE   CARR. 

MONTEVIDEO,  October  2,  1813. 
MY  DEAR  FRIEND  : 

Yours  of  the  19th  ult.  overtook  me  at  this  place.  Agieed, — let 
us  bury  the  hatchet  for  past  omissions,  and  do  as  well  as  we  can  here 
after.  If  we  are  a  little  idle  or  so  at  times,  let  it  break  no  squares 
between  us.  We  have  known  each  other  too  long  and  too  well,  to 
grow  suspicious  and  captious,  and  quarrel  for  straws  of  etiquette  and 
punctilio. 

You  say  some  eloquent  things  about  Croghan  and  the  navy.  They 
are  all  just,  and  I  echo  every  sentiment.  God  speed  them  !  which  is 
as  much  as  they  can  expect  of  you  and  I.  Now  let  us  talk  of  our 
noble  selves — a  very  interesting  subject,  about  which  you  have  not 
said  more  than  ten  words. 

I  hear  that  Lord  Hardwicke,  Lord  Camden  and  Chancellor  Brown, 
are  in  danger  of  a  total  eclipse  !  That  the  decrees  at  Winchester  and 
Clarksburg  have  all  the  rust  of  legal  lore  which  antiquarians  prize  so 
highly,  together  with  the  true  Ciceronian  flow  and  nilor.  How  is 
this  ?  Must  Coke  and  Call,*  Peere  Williams  and  Billy  Williams, 
llaymond  and  Mumford,  all  be  thrown  into  the  shade,  obnubilated, 
obfuscated  and  obruted  for  ever  and  ever!  Must  Blackstone  and 
Blackburn,  Cicero  and  Shackelford,  Mansfield  and  Magill,  be  utterly 
forgotten,  pompcized  and  herculaneized  for  twenty  centuries !  Forbid 
it,  Mercurifacunde, — forbid  it,  Apollo,  the  nine  muses  and  the  seven 
senses  !  lleport  me  truly  on  this  subject. 

Do  you  really  mean  to  extinguish  these  comets,  to  tread  out  the 
constellations,  lamp-black  the  milky  way,  quench  the  sun,  and  set  the 
planets  at  blindnian's-buff,  that  they  may  rise  with  unrivalled  magni- 

*  Call,  Williams,  Mumford,  and  others  here  referred  to,  were  gentlemen 
of  the  Virginia  bar,  some  of  whom  had  published  reports  of  the  Virginia 
decisions  ;  the  others  were  counsel  of  note. 


822  THE  COMEDY.  [1812—1813 

ficence  on  the  benighted  universe  ?     Give  us  notice,  sir;  that  we  may 
take  our  measures  accordingly. 

And  this  brings  me  to  speak  of  the  visit  made  you  by  Peter  and 
Frank.  Would  I  had  been  with  you  !  "What  a  time  you  must  have 
had  of  it !  What  three  happy  fellows !  No  three  happier  in  the 
world.  To  be  sure,  there  have  been  four,  here,  not  far  behind  you 
in  this  particular  :  for  you  are  to  know,  that  as  I  passed  by  Pope's 
last  week,  he  formed  a  junction  with  my  caravan,  and  we  arrived  at 
Montevideo  on  Saturday  evening,  in  high  health  and  spirits.  Here, 
besides  the  families  (CabeH's  and  mine),  we  found  Frank  Gilmer,  and 
we  had  for  four  days  and  nights,  what  our  blacks  eloquently  call  "  old 
laughing." 

Pope  was  in  his  glory — "  fought  all  his  battles  o'er  again,"  with 
triple  lustre,  "  and  thrice  he  slew  the  slain."  In  fact,  he  was  very 
near  killing  all  three  of  us  with  laughter,  and  our  wives  and  children 
to  boot. 

He  dined  one  day  at  Charles  Yancey's, — a  grave  and  orderly  family. 
He  dropped  among  them  like  an  unknown  waterfowl,  and  took  the 
Major's  mother,  an  old  lady  of  seventy,  so  completely  by  surprise, 
that  he  laughed  her  into  an  epilepsy.  Such  a  cure  for  the  heart-ache 
never  before  existed.  "  A  cure  for  the  heart-ache,"  you  know,  is  the 
name  of  a  play. 

Apropos — this  leads  me  to  speak  of  mine. 1  tried  the  metal  of 

the  piece  on  when  I  was  in  Richmond,  and  found  that  (to 

change  the  metaphor)  every  key  produced  the  expected  note.     He 
cried,  laughed,  started  and  gaped  with  curiosity,  just  as  I  intended  : 
so  that  if  he  is  as  good  a  criterion  of  the  public  taste  as  Moliere's  old 
woman,  the  piece  would  certainly  take. 
If  I  find  that  I  have  the  weather-gage  of  the  public,  I  will  give  them 

an  annual  dose  of  good  morals  through  this  channel. 

*  *  *  *  #  * 

We  have  just  received  the  last  Richmond  papers.  The  British 
parliament  prorogued  : — no  ministers  to  meet  ours  in  Russia : — the 
American  war  to  be  pressed.  Without  a  glorious  campaign  this 
summer  by  Bonaparte,  and  the  conquest  of  Canada  by  us,  we  shall 
have  no  peace  this  year.  0  !  for  an  American  navy  and  American 
Generals ! 

####•##* 

But  plague  on  politics  and  politicians !  say  I. 

My  wife  unites  with  me  in  love  to  yourself  and  Mrs.  Carr,  and  my 
children  also  send  love  to  yours.  My  twins  still  shine  with  unrivalled 
lustre. 

May  Heaven  ever  bless  and  prosper  you,  and  make  you  as  illus 
trious  and  happy  as  my  soul  wishes  you. 

Cabell  and  Frank  Gilmer  send  love  piping  hot. 

Your  friend, 

WM.  WIRT. 


CHAP.  XX.]  LETTER  TO  GILMER.  323 

Francis  Gilmer  was,  at  this  time,  an  inmate  in  Wirt's  family,  and 
assiduously  pursuing  the  study  of  the  law.  I  shall  hereafter  have  an 
opportunity  to  offer  several  letters,  written  to  the  student  by  his 
friend,  in  the  way  of  advice  upon  his  studies,  which  will  commend 
themselves  to  the  attention  of  all  who  strive  to  attain  the  honours  of 
the  profession  to  which  these  letters  refer.  The  following  is  the  first 
in  this  series : 

TO   FRANCIS  W.   GILMER. 

MONTEVIDEO,  November  16,  1813. 
MY  DEAR  FRANCIS  : 

As,  in  the  bustle  of  starting,  I  forgot  to  shake  hands  with  you,  I 
shall  endeavour  to  offer  some  atonement  for  it  by  giving  you  the  first 
letter.  Had  I  not  been  perplexed  by  the  multitude  of  petty  concerns, 
to  which  it  was  necessary  for  me  to  attend,  I  wished  to  have  had  some 
particular  conversation  with  you  about  the  course  of  your  studies ;  and, 
more  especially,  the  mode  of  studying  Bacon. 

It  was  understood  that  you  were  not  only  to  read  all  Bacon's 
references,  but  to  add  to  them  Dallas,  Cranch,  and  the  Virginia 
reporters.  There  are  some  British  reporters  since  Grwillim's  edition 
of  Bacon  that  I  have  j  and  as,  instead  of  shrinking  from  labour,  you 
love  a  task  the  more  for  being  the  more  herculean,  I  would  recommend 
it  to  you  to  embrace  them  in  your  scheme  also. 

Whenever  the  head  you  are  upon  involves  the  subject  of  pleading, 
you  ought  to  consult  Chitty  before  you  broach  Bacon,  and  learn  to 
draw  the  plea  off-hand,  at  once.  For  example, — the  first  head  in 
Bacon  is  "Abatement :"  The  course  which  we  propose  is,  first,  to  see 
what  Blackstone  says  on  that  subject  throughout,  which  you  will  easily 
do  by  the  aid  of  his  index.  Consult  Tucker's  Blackstone,  with  the 
editor's  notes,  to  see  the  changes  superinduced  by  our  state  law.  You 
will  thus  have  gotten  the  chart  of  the  coast,  at  least  in  outline,  and 
know  where  you  are ;  next  Chitty, — in  his  first  volume  you  will  see 
his  learning  on  the  plea  of  abatement.  In  his  second,  you  will  see 
the  forms  of  the  plea  itself,  which  you  must  be  able  to  draw  before 
you  lay  him  down.  Thus  prepared,  you  open  Bacon,  and  having  read 
him  and  his  references  on  the  subject,  you  turn  to  Bosanquet  and 
Puller,  East's  Reports,  Smith's  Reports,  Campbell's  Reports,  Sel- 
wyn's  Nisi  Prius,  Espinasse's  Reports,  —  Day's  edition,  —  then  the 
American  and  Virginia  Reports. 

In  my  notes,  I  would  follow  Bacon's  distribution  of  the  head,  and 
arrange  the  matter  which  I  collect  as  he  would  have  done,  had  be 
possessed  it. 

When,  for  example,  you  find  a  case  presenting  a  new  principle,-  - 


324  STUDY  OF  THE  LAW.  [1812—1813. 

say,  on  the  subject  of  "Abatement,"  as  what  may  be  pleaded  in 
abatement, — turn  to  that  division  of  the  head  of  "  Abatement77  under 
which  such  matter  properly  comes,  and  insert  the  reference  there : 
otherwise,  all  your  own  discoveries  will  come  en  masse,  at  the  end  of 
the  head  in  your  note-book,  and  will  be  without  distribution,  order, 
or  light. 

You  must  not  read  so  long  at  a  time,  and  with  so  little  digestion  as 
to  make  your  head  spin,  as  Lord  Mansfield  says,  nor  to  fill  it  with 
confusion  and  "aitches"  (aches),  as  Kemble  calls  it.  On  the  con 
trary,  take  your  time  and  see  your  course  clearly;  understand  the 
whole  ground  as  you  go  along,  not  only  geographically,  but  topo 
graphically  ;  keep  your  books  and  your  route  under  your  eye,  as  clearly 
as  a  general  does  his  army  and  his  line  of  march ;  and,  like  a  great 
general  and  conqueror,  never  quit  any  province  you  enter,  without 
being  able  to  say,  this  province  is  mine,  and  placing  in  it  an  invin 
cible  garrison. 

The  general  course  is,  to  gallop  over  these  provinces  like  travellers 
in  a  hurry,  and  having  made  one  or  two  remarks,  to  take  it  for  granted 
we  know  all  about  it, — as  Weld,  from  a  single  example,  pronounces 
"  all  the  tavern-keepers  in  this  state  drunkards,  and  all  their  wives 
scolds."  One  student,  too,  as  soon  as  he  leaves  one  of  these  provinces, 
having  contrived  to  make  his  own  time  very  disagreeable  in  it,  as  well 
as  very  unprofitable,  turns  about  at  the  boundary  line,  and  making  a 
very  profound  reverence,  says,  "I  hope  never  to  see  you  again;" 
whereas,  had  he  cultivated  it  properly,  he  might  have  made  the 
grounds  so  profitable  and  delightful,  that  it  would  have  been  grateful 
at  a  future  day  to  return  and  review  them. 

I  am  not  one  of  those  who  believe  in  the  declension  of  genius  in 
these  latter  days. — I  believe  the  paucity  of  great  men,  in  all  ages, 
has  proceeded  from  the  universality  of  indolence.  Indolence  is  natural 
to  man,  and  it  is  only  the  brave  few  who  can  "  clear  the  copse  at  a 
bound,"  break  over  the  magic  bourne,  and  stretch  away  with  "  an  eye 
that  never  winks,  and  a  wing  that  never  tires,"  into  new  regions  and 
new  worlds }  who  distinguish  themselves  from  the  crowd,  and  rise  to 
glory  that  never  fades.  What  kind  of  men  were  Littleton,  Coke, 
Bacon,  &c.  ?  Think  what  habits  of  application  they  must  have  had, — 
what  an  insatiable  appetite  for  knowledge ;  not  the  morbid  craving 
of  a  day  or  a  week,  but  the  persevering  voracity  of  a  long  life.  Such 
only  are  the  fellows  who  climb  so  high  up  Fame's  obelisk  as  to  write 
their  names  where  they  may  strike  the  eye  of  distant  nations.  The 
many  of  us  who  cannot  bear  the  labour  of  climbing,  stand  on  the 
ground  and  stretch  up  as  high  as  we  can :  and  as  this  is  a  paltry 
business,  that  depends  more  on  the  longest  legs  and  arms  than  the 

longest  head,  it  turns  out  that ;s  name  is  legible  as  far  as 's ; 

and  in  a  very  short  time  they  will  both  be  erased  by  the  scrambling 
herd  of  their  unaspiring  successors,  who  will  be  as  tall  as  they  are, 


CHAP.  XXI.]  CONTENTMENT  325 

and  will  claim  their  hour  of  notice,  in  a  world  of  several  leagues  in 
circumference. 

You  have  begun  under  the  happiest  auspices, — even  set  out  with 
a  stock  of  science  and  information  which  was  not  surpassed,  I  suspect, 
in  the  example  of  Mr.  Jefferson,  and  not  equalled  in  any  other ;  I  do 
not  except  Tazewell.  Now,  if  you  do  not  keep  the  advantage  you 
have  got,  the  fault  is  your  own.  You  may  get  up  among  the  eminent 
few,  at  the  top  of  the  obelisk,  if  you  choose;  or,  if  you  prefer  it, 
expire  among  the  ephemera  at  the  base.  For  my  own  part,  inde 
pendent  of  the  affection  which  makes  me  take  an  interest  in  you,  I 
have  a  sort  of  philosophical  curiosity  to  see  what  is  attainable  by  man ; 
and  I  know  of  no  young  man  so  well  gifted  for  the  experiment  as 
yourself.  The  cultivation  of  eloquence  should  go  hand  in  hand  with 
your  legal  studies.  I  would  commit  to  memory  and  recite,  a  la  mode 
de  Garrick,  the  finest  parts  of  Shakspeare,  to  tune  the  voice,  by  cul 
tivating  all  the  varieties  of  its  melody,  to  give  the  muscles  of  the  face 
all  their  motion  and  expression,  and  to  acquire  an  habitual  ease  and 
gracefulness  of  gesture  and  command  of  the  stronger  passions  of  the 
soul.  I  would  recite  my  own  compositions,  and  compose  them  for 
recitation ;  I  would  address  my  recitations  to  trees  and  stones,  and 
falling  streams,  if  I  could  not  get  a  living  audience,  and  blush  not 
even  if  I  were  caught  at  it.  So  much  for  this  subject. 

»''#_*..'<•#.;* 

Your  friend, 

WM.  WIHT. 


CHAPTER    XXI. 
1814. 

CONTENTMENT. PROSPEROUS  CONDITION. LETTERS  TO  CARR. TO 

MR.  LOMAX. OPINION    OF    CICERO. VIEWS  OF   THE  WAR. EX 
TRAVAGANT  OPINIONS. — LETTER  TO  GILMER. CAMPAIGNING. 

INSUBORDINATION  OF  THE  MILITIA. VISIT  TO  WASHINGTON. 

CONGRESS. — UNFAVOURABLE  ASPECT  OF  AFFAIRS. MADISON. 

WEBSTER. AVERSION  TO  PUBLIC   LIFE. ENGAGEMENT   IN    THE 

SUPREME  COURT. POSTPONED. 

WIRT'S  professional  position  was  now  securely  established,  on  the 
same  level  with  the  most  eminent  men  of  the  bar  of  Virginia.  The 
most  difficult  and  the  most  dangerous  points  in  the  path  of  his  worldly 
career  may  be  said  to  have  been  overcome.  The  content  which 

VOL.  L  — 28 


326  PROSPEROUS  CONDITION.  [1814. 

springs  from  certainty  and  safety  in  the  affairs  of  life,  was  opening 
broadly  upon  his  household.  A  numerous  family  of  children  was 
growing  up  around  him.  His  business  was  not  only  profitable,  but  it 
was  also  of  a  character  which  rendered  it  most  agreeable  to  his  am 
bition,  by  the  reputation  it  brought  him,  and  the  scope  it  gave  to  a 
useful  and  honourable  association  with  the  more  important  individuals 
and  concerns  of  the  society  in  which  he  lived.  A  man  becomes  ag 
grandized  and  strengthened  in  his  place  by  such  connections,  as  trees 
whose  roots  take  firmer  hold  of  the  soil  by  the  thousand  new  fibres  of 
a  healthful  growth. 

The  natural  concomitant  of  this  steady  success  was  a  placid  and  regu 
lar  life,  from  which  we  may  not  expect  much  material,  just  at  this 
time,  to  give  excitement  to  our  narrative.  It  is  in  toiling  up  the  steep 
of  fame,  that  the  casualties  of  human  condition,  and  the  adventures 
which  belong  to  the  strife  of  genius,  afford  the  most  animating  topics 
of  instruction.  The  height  once  gained,  the  votary's  progress  is  apt 
to  lose  the  interest  of  its  previous  doubtful  and  anxious  struggles,  in 
that  period  of  repose  and  quiet  enjoyment  which  generally  follows  suc 
cessful  endeavour  as  its  appropriate  reward. 

I  do  not  mean  to  intimate  that,  at  this  juncture,  the  subject  of  our 
memoirs  had  attained  a  point  at  which  his  ambition  found  nothing 
further  to  covet.  But  he  had  gained  a  platform  where  he  rejoiced  in 
disenthralling  himself  of  those  misgivings,  which  we  have  seen  him 
sometimes  disposed  to  entertain,  in  the  contemplation  of  his  labours 
to  secure  an  independent  position  for  his  family.  He  felt  that  his 
success  was  assured.  He  had  earned,  and  was  now  enjoying,  the  re 
spect  of  friends,  the  consideration  of  society,  the  reputation  of  useful 
and  vigorous  talent,  and  some  little  celebrity,  besides,  connected  both 
with  forensic  and  literary  eminence.  He  had  health,  competence, 
many  of  the  luxuries  and  elegancies  of  life.  In  short,  he  had  a 
bright  outlook  upon  the  world,  which,  of  itself,  is  one  of  the  happiest 
conditions  of  humanity.  Behind  him,  was  the  pleasant  landscape  of 
many  rugged  heights  traversed  and  prosperously  surmounted.  Before 
him,  were  eminences  rising  to  the  clouds,  but  with  gentler  slope  and 
easier  way,  lightened  by  a  brighter  sun,  and  freshened  with  a  richer 
verdure.  He  had  limb  and  nerve  to  climb  them,  with  a  heart  as 
stout  as  at  first. 


CHAP.  XXL]  LETTER  TO  CARR.  327 

At  this  stage  of  his  progress,  it  is  a  pleasant  duty  to  lay  before  my 
readers  that  little  tissue  of  his  private  history,  —  the  history  of  his 
thoughts  and  opinions,  rather  than  of  his  doings,  —  which  is  to  be 
gathered  from  the  light-hearted  letters  of  this  time.  They  deal  in 
small  incidents,  mostly  of  a  domestic  and  personal  nature,  and  shed  a 
serene  and  agreeable  light  upon  his  own  character,  as  well  as  upon 
that  of  his  friends. 

"It  is  not  the  habit  of  my  mind,"  he  says,  in  a  letter  to  Carr, 
about  this  time,  "  to  repine  at  the  past.  On  the  contrary,  I  so  far 
profit  by  it,  as  to  make  it  the  measure  of  the  future.  I  look  cheer 
fully  forward,  and  flatter  myself  I  shall  yet  amass  a  handsome  inde 
pendence,  turn  farmer,  and,  on  some  fine  seat,  build  a  castle  and  a 
literary  name.  '  A  castle  in  the  air/  quoth  you.  Very  probably. 
Yet  the  illusion  is  pleasing,  and  '  Hope/  you  know,  l  still  travels 
through,  nor  quits  us  till  we  die/  For  which  companionable  temper 
of  hers,  I  most  gratefully  thank  her  Serene  Highness,  and  bid  her 
welcome  to  my  fireside. " 


MY  DEAR  FRIEND  : 


TO    JUDGE   CARR. 

RICHMOND,  February  15,  1814. 


You  have  written  me  such  a  letter  as  I  have  not  seen  this  many  a 
day  before.  I  have  just  been  reading  it  all  the  way  from  the  post 
office,  from  which  it  took  me  half  an  hour  to  walk,  and  I  experienced, 
}n  reading  it,  some  of  the  most  delicious  suffocations  that  ever  touched 
me.  I  don't  know  whether  you  have  enough  of  the  woman  in  you 
to  understand  this  expression :  if  not,  so  much  the  better  for  you, 
according  to  Hume.  Not  that  I  doubt  your  sensibility.  I  know  that 
well :  but  I  don't  know  that  it  ever  takes  you  by  the  throat.  Your 
manhood  might  rebel  at  such  a  liberty ;  and  yet  I  have  seen  it  make 
pretty  free  with  your  eyes. 

The  truth  is,  that  your  praise  gives  me  more  pleasure  than  that  of 
all  the  other  men  in  the  world  put  together.  I  have  had  such  long 
and  intimate  experience  both  of  your  candour  and  judgment :  I  know 
them  both  to  be  of  the  very  first  quality.  You  have  had,  too,  such 
an  opportunity  of  judging  me  as  no  other  man  alive  has  had;  and 
when  I  add  to  this  the  tenderness  and  sincerity  of  your  friendship  for 
me,  you  may  well  believe  that  I  speak  in  the  simplicity  of  my  heart, 
when  I  say  that  I  would  not  exchange  your  good  opinion  of  me,  for 
that  of  all  the  great  and  little  men  of  the  nation.  Nay,  that  I  should 


328  AUTHORSHIP. 

find  ample  consolation  and  refuge  in  your  esteem  and  affection  from 
the  desertion  of  all  the  world  of  men  besides. 

It  is  in  vain  that  conscience  tells  me  I  do  not  deserve  what  you  say 
of  me ;  for  immediately  I  retort  on  conscience  as  the  sailor  did  on  the 
man  whom  he  was  about  to  throw  overboard,  "  do  you  know  better 
than  the  doctor  I"  If  I  were  very  anxious  to  convince  you  of  your 
error,  I  would  tell  you  that  I  fear  any  one  but  a  partial  friend  would 
smile  at  your  recital  of  the  evidences  of  my  talents.  The  British 
Spy  and  the  Old  Bachelor  !  "  Against  eight  hundred  ships  in  com 
mission,  we  enter  the  lists  with  a  three-shilling  pamphlet,"  said  John 
Randolph  of  Mr.  Madison's  book  on  Neutral  Rights ; — and  too  surely 
I  fear  that,  weighed  against  the  great  and  copious  works  of  a  man  of 
genuine  talents  and  resources,  the  poor  little  British  Spy  and  the  Old 
Bachelor  would  sink,  (or,  rather  to  keep  up  the  metaphor  of  weighing, 
would  rise)  into  equal  contempt.  To  tell  you  the  truth,  I  fancy  my 
self  much  such  a  fellow  as  a  late  Edinburg  review  describes  Horace 
Walpole  to  have  been ; — that  is  to  say — as  having  begun  life  with  a 
most  ardent  passion  for  literary  fame  of  the  noblest  order,  but  having 
convinced  himself,  by  two  or  three  experiments,  that  nature  had  denied 
him  the  qualities  which  are  essential  to  the  composition  of  a  great 
author,  he  took  it  out  in  gay  and  frivolous  laughter  at  himself  and  all 
other  literary  pretenders ;  and  found  that  his  talents  were  at  home 
only  in  light-hearted  raillery.  Mine  have  been  only  short  and  sportive 
excursions,  exceedingly  light  and  desultory,  and,  I  fear,  exceedingly 
frothy  and  flashy.  1  have  written  no  sustained  work ;  nothing  which 
shows  those  masterly  powers  of  investigation,  of  arrangement,  of  com 
bination,  of  profound  and  great  thinking,  of  the  character  of  which 
I  should  be  proud,  and  in  which  alone  I  should  feel  any  satisfaction. 
Such  a  work  as  Robinson's  Charles  Vth,  for  example,  or  as  Tacitus' 
Annals,  or  Plutarch's  Lives,  even,  would  content  me.  Is  not  this 
modest  ?  By-the-bye,  I  don't  think  much  of  Plutarch's  Lives,  for 
the  authorship.  They  owe  their  celebrity,  I  suspect,  much  more  to 
the  excellency  of  the  materials  than  to  the  workmanship.  He  seems 
to  me  to  reverse  Ovid's  materiem  super  abat  opus,  and  is,  in  my  humble 
opinion,  very  much  of  a  dry,  babbling,  superstitious  old  woman.  You 
see  I  am  off  the  track.  Well — here  I  go. 

Talking  of  authorship,  I  shall  send  you  by  Magill  to-day,  George 
Hay's  work  on  Expatriation.  I  want  your  opinion  of  it:  not  for 
Hay,  but  for  myself.  I  will  not  tell  you  what  we  think  of  it  here  : 
I  mean  we,  your  particular  friends.  I  will  only  tell  you  that  by  men 
much  greater  than  we  pretend  to  be,  it  has  been  cracked  up  to  the 
stars.  Mr.  Madison,  it  is  said,  has  presented  several  copies  of  it  in 
great  triumph  to  Jeffries,  the  master  reviewer  at  Edinburg.  Inger- 
soll,  Duponceau,  Rush  and  old  John  Adams,  have  eulogized  it  in  the 
strongest  terms.  It  is  making  a  great  noise  amongst  the  political 
literati  of  the  North,  and  is  overshadowing  its  author  with  laurels. 


.  XXI.]  NAPOLEON.  329 

Read  it  with  attention.  Weigh  it  with  your  usual  thought  and  care, 
and  let  me  have  your  conscientious  opinion  of  it. 

Now  turn  we  to  a  much  more  interesting  work, — your  boy.*  How 
much  I  am  gratified  by  this  incident,  I  will  not,  because  I  cannot,  tell 
you.  I  learn,  too,  that  it  is  no  sudden  freak  to  give  him  this  name : 
that  your  girls  have  baulked  the  project  many  a  time  before.  Had 
you  any  superstition,  you  would  think  that  Providence  thus  interfered 
to  give  you  time  for  consideration.  But  let  us  not  be  given,  like 
Father  Shandy,  to  too  close  reasoning  on  small  matters.  Let  me  tell 
you  that  Mrs.  Carr's  determination  in  this  affair,  is  sweeter  to  me 
than  the  oil  that  was  poured  on  Aaron's  head.  I  love,  honour,  and 
you  shall  obey  her.  Tell  her  that  the  boy  shall  never  have  cause  to 
blush  for  his  name,  so  far  as  honour  is  concerned,  unless,  as  you  say, 
"  the  devil  is  in  it — and  then  I  shall  never  believe  it  till  it  happens." 
May  heaven  bless  the  boy,  and  make  him  a  halo  of  glory  around  his 
parents'  heads  !  It  is,  indeed,  a  dread  responsibility  which  we  fathers 
have.  Yours  is  nothing.  To  act  properly  and  exemplarily  is  natural 
to  you.  I  give  you  no  credit  for  it.  Nature  mingled  your  elements 
and  gave  your  blood  its  current.  To  act  wrong  would  just  be  as  un 
natural  to  you  as  to  act  right  is  to  the  greater  part  of  the  world.  But 
what  is  to  become  of  such  a  wayward,  undisciplined  rabble  of  spirits 
and  habits  as  mine ;  how  am  I  to  manage  them  so  as  to  place  a  grave, 
reverend,  and  patriarchal  example  before  my  children  ?  I'll  tell  you 

what,  sir — as  old  Mr.  J used  to  say,  "  there's  no  more  chance 

for  me — no — no  more  than  there  is  for  the  Pope  of  Rome," — for 
whom,  by-the-bye,  according  to  the  present  posture  of  affairs  in  Europe, 
there  seems  to  be  a  pretty  good  chance. 

Apropos — (very  apropos  indeed !)  what  think  you  of  this  reverse 
of  Bonaparte's  fortunes?  "Consuesse  enim,  Deos  immortales,  quo 
gravius  homines  ex  commutatione  rerum  doleant,  quos,  pro  scelere 
eorum  ulcisci  velint  his  secundiores  interdum  res  et  diuturniorem  im- 
punitatem  concedere."  As  for  Napoleon,  I  care  no  more  for  him,  in 
himself  considered,  than  I  do  for  any  other  tornado  that  is  past.  Bu* 
will  France,  drained  and  exhausted,  be  able  to  make  head  against  this 
northern  hive,  or  will  she  share  the  fate  of  Poland  ?  I  am  curious  to 
see  the  character  of  France  in  this  new  situation  in  which  she  is 
placed.  How  will  she  regard  Bonaparte  in  eclipse  ?  What  will  be 
the  result  to  Europe  of  this  recoiling  flood  of  success  ?  We  live  in 
an  age  of  most  wonderful  events,  but  they  are  of  a  most  stern  and 
ferocious  character.  They  have  not  the  interest  or  magnificence  of 
the  Crusades :  so  much  can  sentiment  do  in  these  matters,  and  such 
a  grace  can  chivalry  and  a  generously  mistaken  Christianity  shed  upon 
a  cause. 

*  Carr  had  just  named  a  son  after  his  friend.  The  next  letter,  it  will  be 
seen,  was  occasioned  by  the  death  of  this  boy. 

28* 


330  LIGHT  LITERATURE.  [1814. 

What  effect  will  Napoleon's  reverse  have  on  us  ?  Some  think  that 
Britain  will  take,  if  not  higher,  at  least  more  obstinate  ground  against 
us  on  account  of  her  triumphs.  Others,  again,  think  that  having 
gotten  the  Emperor  down,  she  will  be  anxious  to  devote  all  her 
powers  to  his  annihilation,  and  therefore  be  the  better  inclined  to 
have  peace  with  us.  My  own  opinion  is  that  she  has  no  notion  of 
giving  up  any  point  in  the  quarrel ;  that  with  the  latter  of  those  two 
views  she  may  probably  be  inclined  to  a  truce,  and  that  she  will  then 
negotiate  with  us,  if  we  will  indulge  her,  till  she  has  tried  the  issue 
of  her  arms  on  France ;  but  that  in  any  event  she  will  finally  persist 
in  the  principles  and  practices  against  which  we  are  at  war. 

But  what  care  we  for  politics — let  us  talk  of  our  children. 
******* 

The  Old  Bachelor  is  not  yet  at  hand.  Ritchie  announces  that  he 
is*  shortly  expected.  I  will  send  you  a  copy  by  the  earliest  convey 
ance.  By-the-bye,  quere,  whether  even  compositions  of  this  character 
are  not  calculated  to  produce  the  effect  which  your  brother  ascribed 
to  play-writing  ?  I  am  afraid  that  both  the  Old  Bachelor  and  the 
British  Spy  will  be  considered  by  the  world  as  rather  too  light  and 
bagatellish  for  a  mind  pretending  either  to  stability  or  vigour.  I  re 
collect  no  man  of  eminence,  (I  mean  political  eminence,)  either  in 
this  or  any  other  modern  country,  who  has  descended  to  such  amuse 
ments.  To  tell  you  the  simple  truth,  politics  never  appeared  to  me 
to  be  a  desirable  field,  or  one  for  which  I  was  fitted  either  by  nature 
or  habit;  and,  therefore,  I  have  never  squared  my  course  by  any 
such  anticipation.  But  if  you  are  in  earnest  in  your  prophecies  about 
me,  and  in  wishing  also  to  see  them  fulfilled,  it  is  time  for  me  to  cast 
my  manners  and  rules  of  action  over  again.  "  I  shall  never  believe 
it  though,  till  I  see  it/'  as  you  say  on  another  occasion. 

My  wife,  who  has  read  your  letter  with  as  much  pleasure  as  I 
have  done,  unites  with  me  in  love  to  you  and  yours. 
The  Governor  (meaning  Cabell,)  and  his  wife,  and  Frank  Gilmer 
greet  you  kindly. 

Your  friend, 

WM.  WIRT. 

TO   JUDGE   CARR. 

RICHMOND,  May  15, 1814. 
MY  DEAR  FRIEND  : 

I  received,  yesterday,  your  letter  of  the  6th  instant,  giving  the  dis 
tressing  account  of  the  loss  of  your  dear  boy.  It  is  a  rude  and  dread 
ful  blow.  But  we  are  in  the  hands  of  a  Being  who  governs  the  Uni 
verse  at  His  pleasure,  and  whose  dispensations,  I  believe,  however 
deeply  they  cut  at  the  moment,  are  always  destined  to  avert  some 
greater  calamity.  You  might  have  lost  him  at  a  more  interesting  age, 


CIIAP.  XXI.]  LETTER  TO  CARR.  331 

after  those  chords  with  which  he  had  begun  to  take  possession  of  your 
hearts  had  become  more  complete  and  more  strong.  You  might  have 
lost  him  under  circumstances,  and  by  a  mode  of  death  still  more 
heart-rending  and  distracting.  My  own  sufferings  from  the  death  of 
friends  and  children  have  been  so  severe,  that  I  have  sometimes  found 
myself  rebelling  against  the  author  of  all  good,  and  arraigning  both 
his  justice  and  mercy.  Parnell's  Hermit  first  put  me  right  on  this 
subject;  taught  me  to  regard  afflictions  themselves  "as  blessings  in 
disguise,"  and  to  kiss  the  rod  with  humble  resignation.  We  have 
nothing  else  for  it,  my  dear  friend,  in  this  life.  We  can  neither  stop 
nor  change  the  course  of  events,  much  less  can  we  recall  them.  To 
surrender  ourselves  to  unavailing  sorrow  on  account  of  the  dispen 
sations  of  Providence  is,  therefore,  not  the  path  which  either  reason 
or  religion  would  point  out  to  us.  To  mourn  over  such  a  loss  as  you 
have  experienced,  is,  indeed,  both  natural  and  inevitable ;  but  to  per 
mit  it  to  hang  upon  the  heart  and  to  weigh  down  the  mind  and  spirits, 
is  inconsistent  with  our  duty,  both  to  ourselves  and  others.  You 
have  excellent  children,  who  are  still  spared  to  you.  You  and  your 
wife  are  both  young,  and  Heaven,  I  doubt  not,  will  richly  supply  the 
place  of  the  cherub  who  has  been  taken  from  you.  How  apt  we  are 
to  aggravate  our  afflictions,  by  imagining  that  if  we  are  not  the  only 
sufferers  in  the  world,  we  are  certainly  the  greatest !  Alas !  where  is 
the  man  with  a  family  who  has  not  imagined  the  same  thing  of  him 
self!  You  know  that  I  myself  lost  two  of  the  best  children  in  the 
world,  within  a  month  of  each  other ;  one  of  them,  too,  a  perfect  beauty, 
and  in  the  very  age  of  fascination.  My  eyes,  at  this  moment,  fill  at 
the  recollection  of  that  girl :  but  she  is  an  angel  in  Heaven,  and  has 
escaped  from  all  those  sorrows  and  sufferings  which  continue  to  scourge 
us.  God's  will  be  done  !  Let  us  submit  ourselves  to  his  power,  wis 
dom  and  goodness,  confiding  that,  in  his  own  good  time  and  way,  he 
will  bring  good  out  of  evil,  and  show  us  that  we  have  mistaken  a 
blessing  for  a  curse. 

#  *  %  %  #  * 

My  wife  begs  Mrs.  Carr  to  be  assured  of  her  sympathy.  We  pray 
God  to  bless  you  both. 

Farewell, 

WM.  WIRT. 

The  next  letter  has  reference  to  some  opinions  upon  the  merits  of 
Cicero's  works,  which  had  been  disparaged  in  the  British  Spy.  It  is 
addressed  to  a  friend  who  resided  at  Menokin,  in  Richmond  County, 
on  the  Rappahannock. 


332  LETTER  TO  LOMAX.  [1814. 

TO  JOHN  TAYLOR  LOMAX. 

RICHMOND,  July  7, 1814. 
MY  DEAR  LOMAX  : 

*  *  *  *  *  * 

I  would  fain  apply  this  recess  of  the  Courts  to  my  law  books,  and 
a  preparation  for  the  fall  and  winter  campaign ;  but  I  have  not  the 
courage.  And  so,  having  bought  at  Jock  Warden's  sale,  Verbur- 
gius's  folio  edition  of  all  Cicero's  works,  I  have  been  brushing  up  my 
Latin  and  have  read  with  great  delight,  his  Orator  and  his  Brutus. 
But  my  delight  only  continues  while  I  have  my  eyes  fixed  on  Cicero ; 
for  the  moment  I  turn  them,  by  way  of  comparison,  on  the  brightest 
of  our  own  native  models,  my  heart  sinks  and  dies  within  me.  What 
children  we  are,  my  dear  Lomax — what  boys,  and  raw  boys  too,  com 
pared  with  that  wonderful  man  !  I  have  once  wronged  him  by  the 
publication  of  an  opinion  concerning  him ;  but  I  hope  to  live  to  repair 
the  error.  Middleton,  whose  book  I  have  also  read  since  the  courts 
rose,  observes,  that  no  man  who  has  ever  read  Cicero's  books  on  Ora 
tory,  will  wonder  that  he  has  stood  unrivalled  to  the  present  day ;  for 
there  never  was,  he  says,  and  there  never  will  be  again,  such  a  union 
of  talents  and  of  toil.  If  such  glory  could  be  carried  by  a  coup  de 
main,  even  at  the  risk  of  life,  who  would  not  aspire  to  it  ?  But  to 
be  able  to  effect  it  only  by  a  siege  for  life, — and  such  a  siege  too, — 
not  one  day  in  every  week,  but  every  day  devoted,  and  most  enthu 
siastically  devoted,  to  the  pursuit !  —  it  is  enough  to  shake  a  much 
more  constant  man  than  me.  What  say  you  to  it !  You  will  say, 
perhaps,  that  in  these  war  times  I  might  be  better  employed  than  in 
reading  Cicero.  But  "I  deny  your  hypothesis,"  as  one  of  Judge 
Coalter's  Scotch-Irish  acquaintances  replied  to  a  man  who  had  given 
him  the  lie.  The  Legislature  have  dismantled  my  flying  artillery,  by 
prohibiting  the  Executive  from  supplying  us  with  horses  and  other 
munitions  of  wrar,  whereby  they  have  driven  me  into  the  ranks  of  the 
militia  again,  and  there  I  stand  until  the  war  comes  to  me. 

Oh,  for  an  American  General ! — What  can  we  do  without  one,  but 
erect  monuments  to  our  own  folly  and  disgrace  on  the  Canadian  fron 
tier  ?  Had  we  a  commander  worthy  of  our  cause  and  of  our  people, 
the  army  would  be  the  resort  of  character  and  talents,  and  we  might 
once  more  "  put  the  British  troops  to  school."  As  it  is — Good  Lord 
deliver  us ! 

They  say  the  hostages  are  delivered  up  ] — and,  I  suppose,  we  shall 
go  on,  in  the  sanguine  hope  of  peace,  acting  as  if  that  peace  had  al 
ready  taken  place,  till  the  Philistines  be  upon  us.  How  far  may  the 
designs  of  England  reach  ?  She  has  just  seen  France  complete  the 
circle  of  her  Revolution  by  returning  to  her  old  allegiance.  May  she 
not  improve  upon  the  hint  in  regard  to  us  ?  and  want  her  American 
Colonies  again,  to  preserve  her  balance  against  those  great  powers  who 


CHAP.  XXL]  EXTRAVAGANT  OPINIONS.  333 

have  been  shaking  Europe  to  its  foundations  ?  May  not  our  divisions 
foster  such  a  project  ?  If  she  has  such  a  project  in  her  head,  although 
perfectly  chimerical,  it  will  tend,  I  apprehend,  to  prolong  the  war,  as 
well  as  to  render  it  much  more  obstinate  and  bloody. 

#  *  *  *  *  * 

Your  sincere  and  cordial  friend, 

WM.  WIRT. 

The  present  generation  will  be  amused  at  these  speculations  upon 
the  purpose  of  England,  in  the  war  to  which  they  refer.  They  are 
worthy  of  note-,  as  expressing  opinions  and  apprehensions  which  many 
seriously  entertained  in  this  country,  —  but  which  we  can  scarcely 
imagine  ever  found  a  place  in  the  deliberations  of  a  British  cabinet. 
Between  the  war  of  the  Revolution  and  that  of  1812,  the  interval, 
as  it  had  not  obliterated  the  animosity  of  the  country  against  Eng 
land,  so,  neither  had  it  entirely  removed  the  suspicion  of  a  desire,  on 
the  part  of  our  old  enemy,  to  attempt  the  reconquest  of  her  lost  colo 
nies  when  occasion  might  seem  to  favour  the  enterprise.  The  vestige 
of  this  sentiment  left  upon  the  minds  of  the  people,  somewhat  re 
sembles  that  connected  with  the  Pretender,  whose  apparition  disturbed 
the  dreams  of  Englishmen  even  at  the  date  of  the  birth  of  George 
the  Third.  The  lapse  of  time  between  the  war  of  1812  and  the  pre 
sent  day,  amongst  its  miracles  of  national  progress,  has  thrown  this 
fancy  of  the  reconquest, — if  any  sane  man  ever  indulged  it, — into  the 
category  of  the  most  harmless  of  dreams ;  with  even  less  of  the  pro 
bable  in  it  than  that  counterpart  prophecy,  which  we  have  heard  in 
this  our  own  day  —  "  That  man  is  now  alive,  with  a  beard  upon  his 
chin,  who  will  see  an  American  army  reviewed  Dy  an  American  gene 
ral,  in  Hyde  Park/7  Let  us  hope  that  the  guardian  genius  of  the 
future  destiny  of  two  great  nations,  will  keep  such  "  toys  of  despe 
ration"  out  of  the  minds  of  both ;  and  even  confirm  them  in  the  vir 
tuous  faith,  that  peace  and  brotherhood  have  nobler  triumphs  than  the 
>  vulgar  glories  of  war.  May  their  strength  never  be  measured  in  more 
destructive  contest  than  that  which  shall  be  seen  in  the  rivalry  of  be 
neficent  acts  and  the  exchange  of  the  physical  and  intellectual  wealth 
of  civilization ! 

Francis  Gilmer  had  now  removed  to  Winchester,  with  an  intent  to 
commence  the  practice  of  the  law.  He  was  consigned  by  Wirt  to  the 
special  guidance  of  his  friend  Carr.  The  following  is  an  extract  from 
a  letter  to  the  young  practitioner  on  this  occasion. 


334  LETTER  TO  GILMER.  [1814. 

TO  FRANCIS  W.   GILMER. 

RICHMOND,  July  13, 1814. 
MY  DEAR  FRANCIS  : 

I  thank  you  for  yours  of  the  14th,  which  I  have  just  received. 
You  magnify  very  much  the  slight  favours  which  we  have  had  it  in 
our  power  to  render  you.  Such  as  they  are,  they  have  been  most 
cheerfully  rendered ;  and  you  have  more  than  counterbalanced  them 
by  the  pleasure  of  your  society. 

*  *  *  #  #  *  •* 

Your  friends  are  all  interested  in  your  making  a  first-rate  figure. 
Mediocrity  will  not  content  us.  But  this  eminence  is  not  to  be 
reached  per  saltum ;  you  will  find  it  pretty  much  of  an  Alp-climbing 
business.  The  points  of  the  rocks  to  which  you  cling  will  often  break 
in  your  hands,  and  give  you  many  a  fall  and  many  a  bruise.  Those 
who  are  in  possession  of  the  mountain  before  you,  will  annoy  you  not 
a  little  and  increase  the  natural  difficulties  of  the  passage.  But,  in 
stead  of  despairing  at  the  first  fall,  or  at  the  twentieth,  remember  the 
prospect  from  the  summit,  and  the  rich  prizes  that  await  you, — wealth, 
beauty,  glory.  Above  all,  do  not  be  disheartened  at  the  high  expec 
tations  which  you  know  to  be  entertained  of  you,  or  too  prompt  to 
despond  at  your  first  failures  and  the  slowness  of  your  progress.  We 
all  know  that  it  is  "  a  rough  roll  and  tumble  ; ;  game  in  which  you 
are  engaged,  and  if  you  are  thrown,  (as  thrown  you  will  be,  again  and 
again,)  you  must  up  with  a  laugh,  catch  a  better  hold  next  time,  and 
try  it  again.  Do  not  calculate  on  feeling  perfectly  at  your  ease  in  this 
gymnasium,  under  two  or  three  years ;  and  these,  not  two  or  three 
years  of  indolent  hanging  on,  (from  which  you  could  learn  nothing,) 
but  of  daily  and  arduous  exercise  and  study.  You  know  you  have 
much  yet  to  read,  to  fill  up  the  outline  which  we  had  marked  out  for 
your  preparatory  studies.  You  must,  especially,  make  yourself  inti 
mate  with  the  Virginia  reporters,  and  feel  at  home  in  all  the  cases,  so 
as  to  have,  not  only  the  principles,  but  the  names  of  the  cases  ever 
ready. 

You  cannot  conceive  how  much  the  mastery  of  our  State  decisions 
will  place  you  at  your  ease,  and  what  vantage-ground  it  will  give  you, 
over  the  generality  of  your  profession.  The  law  is  to  many,  at  first 
and  at  last  too,  a  dry  and  revolting  study.  It  is  hard  and  laborious ; 
it  is  a  dark  and  intricate  labyrinth,  through  which  they  grope  in  con 
stant  uncertainty  and  perplexity, — the  most  painful  of  all  states  of 
mind.  But  you  cannot  imagine  that  this  was  the  case  with  Lord 
Mansfield,  or  with  Blackstone,  who  saw  the  whole  fabric  in  full  day 
light  in  all  its  proportions  and  lustre ;  who  were,  indeed,  the  architects 
that  helped  to  build  it  up.  Although,  at  present,  you  walk,  as  it  were, 
through  the  valley  of  the  shadow  of  death,  yet  keep  on;  and  you  will 


CHAP.  XXL]  CAMP  LIFE.  335 

emerge  into  the  bright  and  perfect  day;  and  leaving  behind  you  the 
gropers,  and  bats,  and  moles,  you  will  see  the  whole  system  at  one 
glance,  and  walk  like  the  master  of  the  mansion,  at  your  ease,  into 
any  apartment  you  choose.  0  diem  praeclarem  !  Then  you  will 
handle  your  tools,  not  only  dexterously  but  gracefully,  like  a  master 
workman,  and  add,  yourself,  either  a  portico,  a  dome,  or  an  attic  story 
to  the  building,  and  engrave  your  name  on  the  marble,  Proh  spectacu- 
lum  !  But  enough,  and  more  than  enough,  to  you  who  require  rather 
the  rein  than  the  spur.  I  feel  great  anxiety  for  you,  and  am  very 
anxious  to  hear  of  your  debut.  Avail  yourself  of  the  first  favourable 
opportunity  to  make  it  ]  taking  full  time  for  preparation,  (but  not  for 
pompous  preparation,  which  would  ruin  you ;)  and  give  me  an  inge 
nuous  account  of  the  whole  affair.  Remember  in  your  preparations, 
that  enucleare  does  not  signify  to  mash  the  kernel,  and  take  out  a 
part — but  to  take  out  the  whole,  neat  and  clean. 

******* 
We  all  join  in  love  and  best  wishes  to  you. 

Adieu. 

WM.  WIRT. 

We  shall  now  find  some  pictures  of  a  militia  campaign,  in  the  fol 
lowing  extracts  from  a  correspondence  with  Mrs.  Wirt.  The  enemy 
had  captured  Washington  on  the  24th  of  August.  The  British  fleet 
had  descended  the  Potomac  River,  and  was  now  in  the  Chesapeake 
Bay.  Its  destination  remained  unknown  in  Richmond,  until  the 
movement  on  Baltimore  became  apparent.  The  failure  on  Baltimore, 
on  the  12th  and  13th  of  September,  animated  the  hopes  of  the  people 
living  in  the  vicinity  of  the  Chesapeake,  and  increased  their  confidence 
in  their  power  to  repel  an  attack  on  any  other  point.  A  camp  was 
formed  below  Richmond,  on  the  York  River,  at  a  place  known  as 
Warrenigh  Church.  Wirt  was  there,  a  captain  of  artillery,  in  com 
mand  of  a  battalion. 

These  extracts  supply  some  incidents  of  camp  life. 

WARRENIGH,  September  9, 1814. 

"  Your  most  seasonable  supply,  under  convoy  of  our  man  Randal, 
came  in  last  evening.  The  starving  Israelites  were  not  more  glad 
dened  by  the  arrival  of  quails  and  manna  than  we  were  by  the  salu 
tation  of  Randal.  The  fish  would  have  been  a  superb  treat,  had 
there  been  such  an  article  as  a  potato  in  this  poverty-stricken  land. 
And  yet  the  parish,  according  to  the  old  inscriptions,  is  called  '  Bliss- 
land/ — The  church  was  built  in  1709. 


336  CAMP  LIFE.  [1814. 

"  The  British  fleet  are  said  to  have  descended  the  bay,  or  to  be 
now  doing  so.  There  was  a  seventy-four  at  the  mouth  of  York 
River,  day  before  yesterday.  She  weighed  anchor,  yesterday,  and 
went  up  the  bay." 

September  12. 

"  Your  kindness  and  thoughtfulness  has  filled  my  camp  with  luxury 
I  fear  we  shall  have  no  opportunity  to  become  memorable  for  any 
thing  but  our  good  living — for  I  begin  to  believe  that  the  enemy  will 
not  attempt  Richmond.  They  are  said  to  have  gone  up  the  bay  on 
some  enterprise.  If  they  are  hardy  enough  to  make  an  attempt  on 
Baltimore,  there  is  no  knowing  what  they  may  not  attempt.  We  are 
training  twice  a-day,  which  doesn't  well  agree  with  our  poor  horses. 
We  have  a  bad  camping-ground — on  a  flat  which  extends  two  miles 
to  the  river — the  water  is  not  good,  and  the  men  are  sickly.  I  shall 
want  a  tent, — about  which  Cabell  must  interest  himself.  Let  the 
materials  be  good,  and  have  it  made  under  Pryor's  direction." 

September  13. 

"  An  express  this  morning  tells  us  that  five  square-rigged  vessels 
are  at  the  mouth  of  York  River.  It  is  conjectured  that  the  British 
fleet  is  coming  down  the  bay.  Their  object,  of  course,  is  only  guess. 
Their  position  indicates  equally  an  ascent  of  York  or  James  River,  or 
an  attack  on  Norfolk,  or  a  movement  to  sea  to  intercept  Decatur's 
squadron." 

September  16. 

u  A  letter  last  night  from  Cabell,  with  a  good  tent  and  some 
clothes — for  which  I  beg  you  to  thank  him." 


September  19. 

"  The  struggle,  I  now  believe,  will  be  a  short  one.  The  invincibles 
of  Wellington  are  found  to  be  vincible,  and  are  melting  away  by 
repeated  defeats.  The  strongest  blows  they  have  been  striking  have 
been  aimed  only  at  the  power  to  dictate  a  peace.  A  few  more  such 
repulses  as  they  met  at  Baltimore  will  extinguish  that  lofty  hope,  and 
we  shall  have  a  peace  on  terms  honourable  to  us. 

"  We  have  heard  nothing  from  them  since  they  left  Baltimore  :  so 
that  they  cannot  be  yet  coming  this  way, — and  we  are  at  a  loss  to 
conjecture  what  they  are  at. 

"  Our  volunteers  are  becoming  disorderly  for  want  of  an  enemy  to 
cope  with.  Quarrels,  arrests,  courts-martial,  are  beginning  to  abound. 
I  have  had  several  reprimands  to  pronounce  at  the  head  of  my  com 
pany,  in  compliance  with  the  sentence  of  the  courts.  To  one  of  these, 
James,  our  man,  held  the  candle — it  being  dark  at  the  time; — and 
when  I  finished  and  turned  round,  the  black  rascal  was  in  a  broad 
grin  of  delight.  I  was  near  laughing  myself  at  so  unexpected  a  spec- 


CHAP.  XXL]         DISCONTENTS  OF  THE  MILITIA.  337 

tacle.  My  men  are  all  anxious  to  return  home : — constant  applica 
tions  for  furloughs,  in  which  Colonel  Randolph  indulges  them  liberally. 
At  present  I  have  not  more  than  men  enough  to  man  two  guns.  One 
of  my  sergeants  deserted  this  morning ; — another  will  be  put  under 
arrest  presently.  So  much  grumbling  about  rations, — about  the  want 
of  clothes, — about  their  wives, — their  business,  debts,  sick  children, 
&c.,  &c., — that  if  I  get  through  this  campaign  in  good  temper,  I  shall 
be  proof  against  all  the  cares  of  a  plantation,  even  as  Cabell  depicts 
them. 

" I  am  perpetually  interrupted  by  the  complaints  of  my  men. 

Yet  I  do  well,  and,  if  they  leave  me  men  enough,  I  shall  be  prepared 
for  a  fight  in  a  few  days.  We  expect  the  enemy  somewhere  in  Vir 
ginia,  to  avenge  their  discomfiture  at  Baltimore." 

September  26. 

"  Still  at  Warrenigh,  and  less  probability  of  an  enemy  than  ever. 
We  are  doing  nothing  but  drilling,  firing  national  salutes  for  recent 
victories,  listening  to  the  everlasting  and  growing  discontents  of  the 
men,  and  trying  their  quarrels  before  courts-martial.  I  have  endea 
voured  to  give  satisfaction  to  my  company,  so  far  as  I  could,  com 
patibly  with  discipline.  My  success,  I  fear,  has  been  limited.  In 
addition  to  their  rations,  which  have  been  very  good  and  abundant,  I 
have  distributed  to  the  sick,  with  a  liberal  hand,  the  comforts  which 
your  kindness  had  supplied.  The  company  is  well  provided  with 
tents  and  cooking  utensils,  yet  they  murmur  incessantly.  Such  are 
volunteer  militia  when  taken  from  their  homes,  and  put  on  camp 
duty.  One  source  of  their  inquietude  is,  that  they  thought  they  were 
coming  down  merely  for  a  fight,  and  then  to  return.  Being  kept  on 
the  ground  after  the  expectation  of  a  battle  has  vanished,  and  not 
knowing  how  long  they  are  to  remain — looking  every  day  for  their 
discharge — they  are  enduring  the  pain  of  hope  deferred,  and  manifest 
their  disquiet  in  every  form.  Of  such  men,  in  such  a  state  of  mind, 
in  such  a  service,  I  am  getting  heartily  sick. 

******  * 

"  I  was  never  in  better  health,  and  were  my  men  contented,  I  should 
be  in  high  spirits.  As  it  is,  I  shall  bear  up  and  discharge  my  duty 
with  a  steady  hand.  *  *  *  * 

Frank  Gilmcr,  Jefferson  Randolph,  the  Carrs,  Upshur,  and  others, 
have  got  tired  of  waiting  for  the  British,  and  gone  home.  David 
Watson  is  the  only  good  fellow  that  remains  with  us.  He  is  a  major, 
quartered  at  Abner  Tyne's, — messes  with  us, — takes  six  pinches  of 
snuff  to  my  one,  which  he  thrusts  two  inches  up  his  bellows  nostrils, 
and  smiles  at  the  luxury  of  the  effort.  He  is  an  excellent  fellow,  and 
has  spouted  almost  all  Shakspeare  to  us.  You  remember  him  as  a 
contributor  to  the  Old  Bachelor.  He,  my  second  captain,  Lambert, 
and  my  second  lieutenant,  Dick,  make  admirable  company  for  me." 

VOL.  L  — 29  w 


338  END  OF  THE  CAMPAIGN.  [1814. 

September  28. 

"  The  Blues  at  Montpelier  are  suffering  much  from  sickness.  Mur 
phy,  your  brother  John  and  his  friend  Blair  are  all  down.  The  other 
companies  are  almost  unofficered — the  men  very  sickly.  I  strongly 
suspect  that  if  we  are  kept  much  longer  hovering  over  these  marshes, 
our  soldiers  will  fall  like  the  grass  that  now  covers  them.  We  hope 
to  be  ordered  in  a  few  days  to  Richmond.  It  is  believed  on  every 
hand  that  the  British,  with  their  mutinous  and  deserting  troops,  will 
not  attempt  a  march  on  Richmond  through  the  many  defiles,  swamps, 
thickets  and  forests  that  line  the  road,  where,  besides  the  abundant 
opportunities  for  desertion,  nature  has  formed  so  many  covers  for  our 
riflemen  and  infantry. 

If  we  should  be  ordered  to  Richmond,  I  have  no  idea  that  my  com 
pany  will  be  discharged.  It  will  be  kept  there  ready  to  march  at  a 
moment's  warning." 

Here  ends  the  campaign  of  Captain  Wirt,  and  with  it  the  last  of 
his  military  aspirations.  This  little  piece  of  history  is  a  faithful  tran 
script  of  some  of  the  most  characteristic  incidents  of  militia  warfare 
in  nearly  all  the  service  of  the  war  of  1812. 

"  I  would  not,"  says  the  author  of  this  brief  diary,  in  a  subsequent 
letter  to  Mrs.  W.,  "  with  my  present  feelings  and  opinions,  accept  of 
any  military  commission  the  United  States  could  confer.  * 

*  *  I  will  be  a  private  citizen  as  long  as  I  can  see  that, 

by  being  so,  I  shall  be  of  use  towards  maintaining  those  who  are 
dependent  upon  me;  holding  myself  ever  ready  for  my  country's  call 
in  time  of  need. 

"  We  shall  soon  see  whether  Lord  Hill,  who  is  expected  on  the 
coast  with  fourteen  thousand  men,  will  single  out  Virginia  for  his 
operations.  My  own  impression  is  that  he  goes  to  the  relief  of  Cana 
da,  which  feels  itself  in  danger  from  our  recent  successes  there." 

Some  business  for  a  friend  now  took  him  to  Washington.  It  was 
in  October  of  this  year — 1814.  Congress  was  in  session.  The  Capi 
tol  was  in  ruins,  having  been  burnt  by  the  enemy  in  August.  The 
President's  house  was  in  the  same  condition.  There  were  other  ves 
tiges  of  the  ravages  of  the  late  visitation  of  General  Ross  and  Admi 
ral  Cockburn. 

TO  MRS.   WIRT. 

GEORGETOWN,  D.  C.,  October  14,  1814. 

"  Here  I  am  at  Crawford's.  I  am  surrounded 

by  a  vast  crowd  of  Legislators  and  gentlemen  of  the  Turf,  assembled 


CHAP.  XXI.]  VISIT  TO  WASHINGTON.  339 

here  for  the  races  which  are  to  commence  to-morrow.  The  races ! 
— amid  the  ruins  and  desolation  of  Washington. 

•x-  *  *  *  * 

"  We  reached  here  on  Friday  night.  On  Saturday,  after  washing 
off  the  dust  of  the  journey,  I  sallied  forth  to  the  War  Office,  my  busi 
ness  being  with  Colonel  Monroe.  He  was  not  there.  I  went  to  look 
at  the  ruins  of  the  President's  house.  The  rooms  which  you  saw  so 
richly  furnished,  exhibited  nothing  but  unroofed  naked  walls,  cracked, 
defaced  and  blackened  with  fire.  I  cannot  tell  you  what  I  felt  as  I 
walked  amongst  them.  *  From  this  mournful 

monument  of  American  imbecility  and  improvidence,  and  of  British 
atrocity,  I  went  to  the  lobby  of  the  House  of  Representatives, — a 
miserable  little  narrow  box,  in  which  I  was  crowded  and  suffocated  for 
about  three  hours,  in  order  to  see  and  hear  the  wise  men  of  the  nation. 
They  are  no  great  things.  At  five;  to  Monroe's,  and  was  cordially 
received  by  him. 

*  -x-  •*  #  # 

"  Last  night  I  went  to  church,  and  heard  a  Mr.  Inglis  of  Baltimore, 
deliver  what  I  should  call — not  a  sermon — but  a  very  elegant  oration 
in  a  theatrical  style.  The  composition  was  rich,  but  I  thought  out 
of  place ;  his  manner  still  more  so. 

"  P and  I  called  on  the  President.  He  looks  miserably  shat 
tered  and  wo-begone.  In  short,  he  looked  heart-broken.  His  mind 
is  full  of  the  New  England  sedition.  He  introduced  the  subject,  and 
continued  to  press  it, — painful  as  it  obviously  was  to  him.  I  denied 
the  probability,  even  the  possibility  that  the  yeomanry  of  the  North 
could  be  induced  to  place  themselves  under  the  power  and  protection 
of  England,  and  diverted  the  conversation  to  another  topic ;  but  he 
took  the  first  opportunity  to  return  to  it,  and  convinced  me  that  his 
heart  and  mind  were  painfully  full  of  the  subject. 

"  The  arrival  of  a  despatch  gave  us  an  opportunity  to  retire.  He 
invited  us  to  dine  with  him,  but  we  declined,  having  planned  an  excur 
sion  to  Bladensburg,  and,  perhaps,  Baltimore. 

We  then  went  to  the  War  Office.  The  Secretary  kept  me  engaged 
in  political  conversation  till  four  o'clock.  By  this  detention,  I  lost 
a  speech  of  the  celebrated  Webster,  which  I  would  not  have  lost  for 
all  the  Secretary's  eloquence.  To-day,  I  go  in  the  hope  of  hearing 
Pickering, — having  declined  the  Bladensburg  trip,  in  consequence  of 
the  importance  of  the  debate.  Tell  Cabell  to  prepare  for  the  tax : 
the  direct  tax  will  certainly  be  increased  one  hundred  per  cent. 

A  hundred  thousand  regulars,  and  from  twenty  to  thirty  thou 
sand  provisional  troops  will  be  raised  for  defensive  and  offensive  war. 
The  war  in  Canada  will  be  pushed  with  vigour.  War  between  France 
and  England  is  expected  by  the  high  powers  here ; — on  what  grounds 
I  have  not  learned." 


340      FIRST  ENGAGEMENT  IN  THE  SUPREME  COURT.    [1814. 

This  visit  to  the  city  of  Washington  was  the  commencement  of  a 
long  and  intimate  connection  with  affairs,  both  professional  and  poli 
tical,  on  that  theatre.  Wirt  was  now  about  to  become  a  practitioner 
in  the  Supreme  Court.  In  a  letter  to  Carr,  dated  Richmond,  10th  of 
December,  he  refers  to  an  engagement  which  may  possibly  bring  him 
into  a  trial  of  strength  with  one  whom  he  afterwards  met  in  many 
a  contest,  and  whose  name  at  that  day  gave  to  the  American  bar  its 
most  brilliant  light.  This  trial  did  not  take  place  as  soon  as  expected, 
but  was  deferred  for  another  year.  In  the  extract  from  this  letter, 
which  follows,  we  may  see  that  the  writer's  mind  has  been  touched 
by  some  presage  of  a  connection  with  public  life. 

"  Government,  my  friend,  is  but  an  up-hill  work  at  best ;  and  not 
least,  perhaps,  this  elective  government  of  ours,  where  the  public  good 
is  the  last  thing  thought  of  by  the  Legislator — his  own  re-election 
being  the  first.  What  a  stormy  life  is  this  of  the  politician  !  What 
hardness  of  nerve,  what  firmness  of  mind  and  steadiness  of  purpose 
does  it  require  to  sit  composedly  at  the  helm,  and  ably  at  the  same 
time  !  Give  me  a  life  of  literary  ease  !  This  is,  perhaps,  an  ignoble 
wish  ]  but  it  is,  still,  mine.  Let  those  who  enjoy  public  life  ride  in 
the  whirlwind  1  I  covet  not  their  honours, — although,  if  necessary, 
I  would  not  shrink  from  the  duty. 

I  have  some  expectation  of  going  to  Washington  in  February,  to 
plead  a  cause.  The  preliminaries  are  not  quite  settled.  Should  they 
be  so  to  my  satisfaction,  will  you  meet  me  there  ?  I  shall  be  opposed 
to  the  Attorney-General,  and,  perhaps,  to  PINKNEY.  *  The  blood 
more  stirs  to  rouse  the  lion  than  to  hunt  the  hare/  I  should  like  to 
meet  them." 

Mr.  Pinkney  had  resigned  the  post  of  Attorney-General  after  hold 
ing  it  about  two  years,  and  was  succeeded,  in  February  1814,  by  Mr. 
Rush.  We  may  note  in  the  closing  aspiration  of  this  last  extract, 
as  a  curious  coincidence,  that  this  wish  is  breathed  by  one  who  was 
destined  to  become  the  Attorney-General,  and  whose  ambition  was  to 
meet  in  debate  the  combined  powers  of  one  who  had  been,  and  ano 
ther  who  was  then,  the  occupant  of  that  high  post  in  the  Govern 
ment. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

1815  —  1816. 

VISITS  WASHINGTON    TO    ATTEND    THE  COURT. RETURNS. PEACE 

RESTORED    BY  THE   TREATY  OF    GHENT. LETTER  TO    GILMER. — 

RESUMES    THE    BIOGRAPHY    OF    HENRY. DIFFICULTIES   OF    THIS 

WORK. SCANTINESS    OF    MATERIAL. — THE   AUTHOR   WEARY    OP 

IT. LETTER   TO    CARR  ON    THE    SUBJECT. DABNEY  CARR  THE 

ELDER. THE  ORIGIN    OF    THE  CONTINENTAL  CONGRESS. PETER 

CARR. — LETTERS  TO  CARR  AND  GILMER. GEORGE  HAY  RESIGNS 

THE  POST  OF  DISTRICT  ATTORNEY. WIRT  RECOMMENDS  UPSHUR 

TO  THE  PRESIDENT. MODERATION  OF  POLITICAL  FEELING. MR. 

MADISON  APPOINTS  WIRT  TO  THE  OFFICE. CORRESPONDENCE  IN 

REFERENCE  TO  THIS  APPOINTMENT. MAKES  HIS  DEBUT  IN  THE 

SUPREME    COURT. ENCOUNTERS   PINKNEY. HIS    OPINION    OF 

PINKNEY. LETTER   TO    GILMER. LETTER   TO  CARR  ON    "  THE 

PATH  OF  PLEASURE/'  AND  HIS  OPINION  OF  THIS  DRAMATIC  AT 
TEMPT. CORRESPONDENCE  WITH  MR.  JEFFERSON  ON  THE  SUB 
JECT  OF  THE  BIOGRAPHY. — LETTER  TO  RICHARD  MORRIS. 

WIRT  repaired  to  "Washington  soon  after  the  date  of  the  last  letter. 
It  seems,  however,  that  the  opportunity  for  his  debut  in  the  Supreme 
Court  was  postponed.  He  remained  a  few  weeks  at  the  capital, 
amused  with  the  scenes  it  presented  to  him,  and  employing  his  time 
in  extending  his  acquaintance  with  public  men. 

Early  in  1815,  peace  was  restored  by  the  Treaty  of  Ghent,  and  a 
universal  joy  filled  the  heart  of  the  country.  Every  one  thought  of 
getting  "  back  to  busy  life  again" — happy  that  the  stagnation  to  in 
dustry,  the  waste  of  war  and  all  the  disorders  of  interrupted  peace 
were  to  give  place  to  the  orderly  pursuit  of  personal  interests.  Wirt 
shared  in  this  sentiment  as  warmly  as  any  one,  and  betook  himself 
with  fresh  ardour  to  his  customary  labours. 

We  have  here,  another  letter  of  professional  admonition  to  his 
young  friend. 

29*  (341) 


342  LETTER  TO  GILMER.  [1815—1816. 

TO   FRANCIS   W.   GILMER. 

RICHMOND,  July  23,  1815. 
MY  DEAR  FRANCIS  : 

"We  thank  you  for  your  affectionate  favour  of  the  17th,  from  Albe- 
marle.  Providence,  I  believe,  is  ordering  every  thing  for  the  best  for 
you.  I  do  not  know  that  we  have  much  occasion  to  regret  the  dis 
appointment  of  this  trip  of  yours  to  Europe.  Our  friend  Coalter  is 
vociferous  against  it  —  and  let  me  tell  you,  that  his  judgment  is  as 
solid  as  his  native  mountains,  and  moreover,  that  he  takes  a  strong 
interest  in  your  prosperity.  You  lose  by  it,  imagination  ?  Create  Dr. 
Johnson's  ideal  rival  of  perfection  in  the  view  of  European  models } 
but  can  you  not  supply  them  by  your  own  mind,  and  compete  with 
it?  The  which  ideal  rival  is  only  Cicero's  aliquid  immensum,  &c. 
You  are  to  bear  in  mind,  that  we  all  have  our  eyes  and  our  hopes 
upon  you.  You  are  to  remember  that  glory  is  not  that  easy  kind  of 
inheritance  which  the  law  will  cast  upon  you,  without  any  effort  of 
your  own ;  but  that  you  are  to  work  for  it  and  fight  for  it,  with  the 
patient  perseverance  of  a  Hercules.  You  are  also  to  bear  in  mind, 
that  the  friends  who  know  and  love  you,  and  acknowledge  your 
talents,  are  not  the  world.  That  in  regard  to  the  world,  upon  which 
you  are  entering,  you  are  unknown ;  that  with  them  you  have  to  make 
your  way,  as  a  perfect  stranger.  And  that  it  is  not  by  the  display 
of  your  general  science,  that  the  herd  is  to  be  caught ;  but  by  the 
dexterity  with  which  you  handle  your  professional  tools,  and  the  power 
which  you  evince  to  serve  your  clients  in  your  trade.  Now,  the  law 
depends  on  such  a  system  of  unnatural  reasoning,  that  yo«r  natural 
reasoning,  however  strong,  will  not  serve  the  turn.  It  is  true,  that 
when  you  once  understand  this  artificial  foundation,  your  natural 
reason  will  avail  you  much  in  applying  it,  and  measuring  your  super 
structure. 

But,  in  the  first  place,  you  must  read,  sir :  —  You  must  read  and 
meditate,  like  a  Conestoga  horse, — no  disparagement  to  the  horse  by 
the  simile.  You  must  read  like  Jefferson,  and  speak  like  Henry.  If 
you  ask  me  how  you  are  to  do  this,  1  cannot  tell  you,  but  you  are 
nevertheless  to  do  it.  There  is  one  thing  which  I  believe  I  have  not 
mentioned  to  you,  more  than  about  five  hundred  times,  which  you  are 
constantly  to  attend  to — and  in  this  you  must  respect  my  advice  and 
follow  it :  let  your  debut  be  a  decisive  one  ! ! !  Don't  make  your  first 
appearance  in  a  trifling  case.  Get  yourself,  either  by  a  fee  or  volun 
tarily,  into  the  most  important  cause  that  is  to  be  tried  in  Winchester, 
at  the  fall  term.  Let  it  be  such  a  cause  as  will  ensure  you  a  throng 
of  hearers  : — master  the  cause  in  all  its  points,  of  fact  and  law ;  digest 
a  profound,  comprehensive,  simple,  and  glowing  speech  for  the  occa- 


CHAP.  XXII.]  PROFESSIONAL  DEMEANOUR.  343 

sion — not  strained  beyond  the  occasion,  nor  beyond  the  capacity  of 
your  audience ; — and  make  upon  the  world  the  impression  of  strength, 
of  vigour,  of  great  energy,  combined  with  a  fluent,  animated,  nervous 
elocution;  no  puerile,  out-of-the-way,  far-fetched,  or  pedantic  orna 
ments  or  illustrations,  but  simple,  strong,  and  manly — level  yourself 
to  the  capacity  of  your  hearers,  and  insinuate  yourself  among  the 
heart-strings,  the  bones  and  marrow,  both  of  your  jury  and  back-bar 
hearers.  I  say  jury — because  I  fear  that  a  chancery  cause,  although 
it  affords  the  best  means  of  preparation,  will  give  you  no  audience  at 
all ;  and  I  want  you  to  blow  your  first  blast,  before  a  full  concourse, 
both  loud  and  shrill : — and  hereof,  I  think,  gentle  reader,  this  little 
taste  may  suffice. 

Your  notions  of  your  indulgence  in  general  science,  are  correct. 
Don't  quit  them — but  let  them  be  subordinate  to  the  law.  By-the- 
way,  there  is  one  thing  I  had  liked  to  have  forgotten.  One  of  the 
most  dignified  traits  in  the  character  of  Henry,  is  the  noble  decorum 
with  which  he  debated,  and  uniform  and  marked  respect  with  which 
he  treated  his  adversaries.  I  am  a  little  afraid  of  you  in  this  par 
ticular  ;  for  you  are  a  wit,  and  a  satirist — God  help  you  !  Take  care, 
take  care,  take  care  of  this  propensity.  It  will  make  you  enemies, 
pull  a  bee-hive  on  your  head,  and  cover  your  forensic  path  with  stings 
and  venom.  I  pray  you,  aim  at  masking  yourself  with  Henry's  dis 
tinguished  character  for  decorum.  Let  it  be  universally  agreed,  that 
you  are  the  most  polite,  gentlemanly  debater  at  the  bar.  That  alone 
will  give  you  a  distinction — and  a  noble  one  too ;  besides  it  is  a  strik 
ing  index,  and  proper  concomitant  of  first-rate  talents. 

Don't  forget  your  promise  in  regard  to  Mr.  Jefferson,  and  the  gal 
lery  of  portraits.  * 

Continue  to  write  to  me.     Heaven  bless  you. 

WM.  WIRT. 

At  this  time  the  biography  of  Henry  was  resumed,  with  a  stout 
resolve  to  bring  it  to  a  conclusion.  We  have  abundant  evidence  that 
this  had  already  grown  to  be  a  most  irksome  labour. 

The  following  letter  to  Carr  playfully  presents  the  difficulties  of  this 
undertaking,  and  shows  how  reluctantly  Wirt  struggled  with  his  task. 
It  contains  also  an  allusion  to  Dabney  Carr,  the  father  of  his  friend, 
and  the  compatriot  of  Henry ;  a  gentleman  most  favourably  known  in 
the  short  legislative  career  to  which  we  have  heretofore  adverted,  and 
whose  early  death  had  blighted  the  promise  of  a  fair  renown. 

Mr.  James  Webster,  of  Philadelphia,  to  whom  also  this  letter  has 
a  reference,  was  already  engaged  as  the  publisher  of  the  forthcoming 


344  BIOGRAPHY  OF  HENRY.  [1815—1816. 

volume,  and  had  made  some  announcements  of  it  to  the  public,  which, 
it  will  be  seen,  had  served  to  augment  the  author's  disrelish  of  his 
enterprise. 

TO  JUDGE  CARR. 

RICHMOND,  August  20,  1815. 
MY  DEAR  FRIEND  : 

•X-  -5f  #•  *  *  -X- 

Now  for  Patrick  Henry.  I  have  delved  on  to  my  one  hundred  and 
seventh  page ;  up-hill  all  the  way,  and  heavy  work,  I  promise  you ; 
and  a  heavy  and  unleavened  lump  I  fear  me  it  will  be,  work  it  as  I 
may.  I  can  tell  you,  sir,  that  it  is  much  the  most  oppressive  literary 
enterprise  that  ever  I  embarked  in,  and  I  begin  to  apprehend  that  I 
shall  never  debark  from  it  without  "  rattling  ropes  and  rending  sails." 
I  write  in  a  storm,  and  a  worse  tempest,  I  fear  will  follow  its  publi 
cation.  Let  me  give  you  some  idea  of  my  difficulties.  Imprimis, 
then, — I  always  thought  that  Bozzy  ranted,  in  complaining  so  heavily 
of  the  infinite  difficulty  and  trouble  which  he  had  to  encounter  in 
fixing  accurately  the  dates  of  trivial  facts ;  but  I  now  know  by  woful 
experience  that  Bozzy  was  right.  And,  in  addition  to  the  dates,  I 
have  the  facts  themselves  to  collect.  I  thought  I  had  them  all  ready 
cut  and  dry,  and  sat  down  with  all  my  statements  of  correspondents 
spread  out  before  me ;  a  pile  of  old  journals  on  my  right,  and  another 
of  old  newspapers  on  my  left,  thinking  that  I  had  nothing  else  to  do 
but,  as  Lingo  says,  "to  saddle  Pegasus  and  ride  up  Parnassus." 
Such  short-sightedness  is  there  in  "all  the  schemes  o'  mice  and 
men :"  for  I  found,  at  every  turn  of  Henry's  life,  that  I  had  to  stop 
and  let  fly  a  volley  of  letters  over  the  'State,  in  all  directions,  to  collect 
dates  and  explanations,  and  try  to  reconcile  contradictions.  Mean 
time,  until  they  arrived,  "  I  kept  sowing  on." 

In  the  next  place,  this  same  business  of  stating  facts  with  rigid 
precision,  not  one  jot  more  or  less  than  the  truth — what  the  deuce 
has  a  lawyer  to  do  with  truth !  To  tell  you  one  truth,  however,  I 
find  that  it  is  entirely  a  new  business  to  me,  and  I  am  proportionately 
awkward  at  it ;  for  after  I  have  gotten  the  facts  accurately,  they  are 
then  to  be  narrated  happily;  and  the  style  of  narrative,  fettered  by  a 
scrupulous  regard  to  real  facts,  is  to  me  the  most  difficult  in  the  world. 
It  is  like  attempting  to  run,  tied  up  in  a  bag.  My  pen  wants  per 
petually  to  career  and  frolic  it  away.  But  it  must  not  be.  I  must 
move  like  Sterne's  mule  over  the  plains  of  Languedoc,  "as  slow  as 
foot  can  fall,"  and  that,  too,  without  one  vintage  frolic  with  Nanette 
on  the  green,  or  even  the  relief  of  a  mulberry-tree  to  stop  and  take  a 
pinch  of  snuff  at.  I  was  very  sensible,  when  I  began,  that  I  was  not 
in  the  narrative  gait.  I  tried  it  over  and  over  again,  almost  as  often 
as  Gibbon  did  to  hit  the  key-note,  and  without  his  success.  I  deter- 


CHAP.  XXII.]  THE  BIOGRAPHY  OF  HENRY.  345 

mined,  therefore,  to  move  forward,  in  hopes  that  my  palfrey  would 
get  broke  by  degrees,  and  learn,  by-and-bye,  to  obey  the  slightest 
touch  of  the  snaffle.     But  I  am  now,  as  I  said,  in  my  hundred  and 
seventh  page,  which,  by  an  accurate  computation,  on  the  principles  of 
Cocker,  taking  twenty-four  sheets  to  the  quire,  and  four  pages  to  each 
sheet,  you  will  find  to  exceed  a  quire  by  eleven.     And  yet  am  I  as 
far  to  seek,  as  ever,  for  the  lightsome,  lucid,  simple  graces  of  narra 
tive.     You  may  think  this  affectation,  if  you  please,  or  you  may  think 
it  jest;  but  the  dying  confession  of  a  felon  under  the  gallows  (no 
disparagement  to  him  !)  is  not  more  true,  nor  much  more  mortifying. 
Tertio :  The  incidents  of  Mr.  Henry's  life  are  extremely  monoto 
nous.     It  is  all  speaking,  speaking,  speaking.     'Tis  true  he  could 
talk: — "Gods!  how  he  could  talk!"  but  there  is  no  acting  "the 
while."     From  the  bar  to  the  legislature,  and  from  the  legislature  to 
the  bar,  his  peregrinations  resembled,  a  good  deal,  those  of  some  one, 
I  forget  whom, — perhaps  some  of  our  friend  Tristram's  characters, 
"  from  the  kitchen  to  the  parlour,  and  from  the  parlour  to  the  kitchen." 
And  then,  to  make  the  matter  worse,  from  1763  to  1789,  covering     / 
all  the  bloom  and  pride  of  his  life,  not  one  of  his  speeches  lives  in 
print,  writing  or  memory.     All  that  is  told  me  is,  that,  on  such  and 
such  an  occasion  he  made  a  distinguished  speech.    Now  to  keep  saying 
this  over,  and  over,  and  over  again,  without  being  able  to  give  any 
account  of  what  the  speech  was, — why,  sir,  what  is  it  but  a  vast, 
open,  sun-burnt  field  without  one  spot  of  shade  or  verdure  ?     My  soul 
is  weary  of  it,  and  the  days  have  come  in  which  I  can  say  that  I  have 
no  pleasure  in  them.     I  have  sometimes  a  notion  of  trying  the  plan 
of  Botta,  who  has  written  an  account  of  the  American  war,  and  made 
speeches  himself  for  his  prominent  characters,  imitating,  in  this,  the 
historians  of  Greece  and  Home ;  but  I  think  with  Polybius,  that  this 
is  making  too  free  with  the  sanctity  of  history.     Besides,  Henry's 
eloquence  was  all  so  completely  sui  generis  as  to  be  inimitable  by  any 
other  :  and  to  make  my  chance  of  imitating  him  still  worse,  I  never 
saw  or  heard  him.     Even  the  speeches  published  in  the  debates  of 
the  Virginia  convention  are  affirmed  by  all  my  correspondents,  not  to 
be  his,  but  to  fall  far  short  of  his  strength  and  beauty.     Yet,  in  spite 
of  all  this  monotony  and  destitution  of  materials,  we  have  a  fellow 
coming  out  in  the  Analectic  Magazine,  or  the  Baltimore  Commercial 
Advertiser,  I  forget  which, — for  both  have  been  at  it, — exciting  the 
public  expectation  on  this  very  ground,  among  others,  of  the  copious 
ness  and  variety  of  the  materials  within  my  reach  !    Those  puffs  mean 
me  well,  but  I  could  wish  them  a  little  more  judgment. 

Again :  there  are  some  ugly  traits  in  H.'s  character,  and  some 
pretty  nearly  as  ugly  blanks.  He  was  a  blank  military  commander, 
a  blank  governor,  and  a  blank  politician,  in  all  those  useful  points 
which  depend  on  composition  and  detail.  In  short,  it  is,  verily,  as 
hopeless  a  subject  as  man  could  well  desire.  I  have  dug  around  it, 


346  DABNEY  CARR  THE  ELDER.  [1815—1816. 

and  applied  all  the  plaster  of  Paris  that  I  could  command ;  "but  the 
fig-tree  is  still  barren,  and  every  bud  upon  it  indicates  death  instead 
of  life.  "  Then,  surely,  you  mean  to  give  it  up  ?"  On  the  contrary. 
I  assure  you,  sir :  I  have  stept  in  so  deep  that  I  am  determined,  like 
Macbeth,  to  go  on,  though  Henry,  like  Duncan,  should  bawl  out  to 
me,  "  Sleep  no  more !"  I  do  not  mean  that  I  am  determined  to 
publish.  No,  sir  ;  unless  I  can  mould  it  into  a  grace,  and  breathe 
into  it  a  spirit  which  I  have  never  yet  been  able  to  do,  it  shall  never 
see  the  light;  Mr.  Webster's  proposals  to  the  contrary  notwithstand 
ing.  But  what  I  have  determined  upon  is  to  go  on  as  rapidly  as  I 
can  to  embody  all  the  facts :  then,  reviewing  the  whole,  to  lay  it  off 
into  sections,  by  epochs,  on  Middleton's  plan;  and,  taking  up  the 
first  section,  to  make  a  last  and  dying  effort  upon  it  per  se.  If  I 
fail,  I  surrender  my  sword :  if  otherwise,  I  shall  go  forth,  section 
after  section,  conquering  and  to  conquer.  And  if  the  public  forgive 
me  this  time,  I  will  promise  never  to  make  a  similar  experiment  on 
their  good-nature  again. 

With  regard  to  your  father  (Dabney  Carr),  I  had  predetermined 
to  interweave  the  fact  you  mention.  Judge  Tucker  has  furnished  me 
the  incident.  "It  was  at  this  time,  February,  1772,"  says  the 
Judge,  "that  Mr.  Carr  made  a  motion  to  appoint  standing  committees 
of  correspondence  with  the  other  colonies,  on  the  subject  of  the  act 
of  Parliament  imposing  duties  on  glass,  oil  and  painters'  colours." 
The  appointment  of  committees  of  safety  took  place  in  1775,  after  the 
organization  of  the  old  Congress,  to  which,  you  say,  your  father's 
motion  led.  In  regard  to  the  committees  of  correspondence  with  the 
other  colonies,  Judge  Marshall  gives  Massachusetts  the  credit  of  the 
invention ;  though,  I  suspect,  what  Massachusetts  did  invent, — judg 
ing  from  Marshall's  note  10,  cited  page  149  of  his  second  volume, — 
was  nothing  more  than  town  committees  within  that  colony,*  and 
that  the  credit  of  committees  of  correspondence,  connecting  the  Colo 
nies,  really  belongs  to  Virginia.  I  shall  communicate  with  Marshall 
on  this  subject,  and  wish  you  would  do  so  with  Mr.  Jefferson.  I 
should  myself  write  to  this  latter  gentleman,  but  I  have  already 
written  to  him  so  often  and  so  much,  in  the  course  of  my  troubles 
with  Patrick,  that  I  am  really  ashamed  to  annoy  him  farther,  though 
I  have  much  and  frequent  occasion  for  it. 

I  wish  I  knew  something  more  specifically  of  your  father's  cast  of 
character,  in  order  that  I  might  take  this  opportunity  of  giving  him 

*  This  point,  upon  further  investigation,  was  settled  in  the  establishment 
of  an  equal  claim  on  the  part  of  the  two  States  to  the  origination  of  the 
committees.  In  the  Life  of  Henry,  page  37,  the  author  asserts  in  a  note : 
"The  measures  were  so  nearly  coeval  in  the  two  States,  as  to  have  ren 
dered  it  impossible  that  either  could  have  borrowed  it  from  the  other.  The 
messengers  who  bore  the  propositions  from  the  two  States  are  said  to  have 
crossed  each  other  on  the  way." 


CHAP.  XXII.]  A  SKETCH  OF  HIM.  347 

the  best  niche  that  my  poor  jaded  pen  could  form.  I  have  only  a 
general  impression  that  he  was  much  such  a  man  as  it  is  easy  to  con 
ceive  your  brother  Peter*  would  have  been,  had  his  industry  and 
enterprise  been  equal  to  his  genius.  Open,  noble,  magnanimous; 
bold,  ardent,  and  eloquent ;  with  a  mind  rather  strong  than  acute ; 
rather  comprehensive  and  solid  in  his  views  than  remarkable  for  sub- 
tilty  of  discrimination ;  disposed  and  qualified  to  lay  hold  of  and  plant 
himself  on  great  principles,  rather  than  to  run  divisions  among 
minutiae ;  with  an  understanding  highly  cultivated,  a  rich  imagination, 
a  refined  and  classical  taste,  a  full  and  melodious  voice,  and  a  copious 
command  of  the  most  pure  and  nervous  language.  If  this  would  be 
saying  too  much  or  too  little,  let  me  be  corrected,  for  I  have  set  out 
with  the  purpose  of  telling  the  truth,  the  whole  truth,  and  nothing 
but  the  truth,  at  least  in  this  book ;  though  I  should  be  very  unwilling 
that  the  world  should  know  how  awkward  I  am  at  it,  and  how  much 
pain  I  have  in  the  delivery,  for  they  would  certainly  discover  that  it 
is  my  first  operation  of  the  kind ;  nor  should  I  be  astonished  if  some 
rascally  reviewer  should  make  just  this  very  remark;  which,  being 
true,  would  be  no  joke  at  all  to  me,  and  might  make  every  body  else 
laugh  except  "  Mr.  Callender's  counsel." 


Webster  vexes  me  not  a  little  by  the  style  of  his  proposals,  tacking 
to  my  name,  "  Author  of  the  British  Spy."  His  motive  is  obvious 
enough;  but  the  world  will  consider  it  as  my  act,  and  think  it  a 
vanity, — which  I  abhor.  Again,  he  adds,  in  his  proposals  to  the  Life 
of  Henry,  "  together  with  several  of  his  speeches."  Now  his  only 
authority  for  this  is  that  I  told  him  I  had  once  seen  Henry's  "  speech 
on  the  British  debts"  in  manuscript,  taken  by  a  stenographer,  and 

*  Peter  Carr,  here  alluded  to,  and  whose  character  is  portrayed  in  such 
terms  of  discriminate  praise,  was  the  eldest  brother,  as  we  have  seen,  of 
the  Judge.  He  had  died  but  ?.  few  months  before  this  date.  There  is  a 
touching  allusion  to  this  event  in  a  letter  to  Judge  Carr,  written  almost  im 
mediately  after  it. 

"  His  soul,  I  hope,  is  happier  even  than  it  was  on  earth.  It  is  among  the 
articles  of  my  creed  that  he  is  an  unseen  witness  of  our  sorrow  for  his  loss. 
Nothing  remains  for  us,  my  dear  friend,  but  to  remember  him,  to  love  him, 
and  to  gratify  his  spirit,  if  it  be  conscious  of  what  passes  on  earth,  by 
drawing  closer  in  our  affections  for  each  other.  Some  one  friend  or  other 
is  continually  dropping  from  us  ;  and  this  must  be  the  case  while  we  remain 
in  this  state  of  being.  Let  us,  then,  who  are  permitted  to  survive,  endea 
vour  to  repair  these  heart-rending  losses,  by  loving  each  other  more  dearly, 
and  clinging  more  closely  together. 

"  I  am  not  a  misanthrope ;  yet,  I  fear,  it  is  not  often  that  we  shall  meet 
with  men  worthy  to  succeed,  in  our  affections,  to  those  whom  we  have 
lost,  or  to  become  partners  in  that  friendship  which  binds  the  few  survivors 
together." 


348  LITERARY  REPUTATION.  [1815—1816. 

might,  perhaps,  be  able  to  get  it  again.  He  will  disappoint  the  public 
in  this  particular. 

Hark  ye,  —  does  not  Fame  depend  on  the  multitude  of  readers  and 
approvers  ?  I  mean  literary  feme.  And  if  so,  what  kind  of  works, 
on  what  kind  of  subjects,  give  a  man  the  fairest  chance  for  this  afore 
said  fame  ? 

Now,  put  on  your  considering-cap,  and  get  upon  your  wool-sack.  I 
ask  again,  now  that  you  are  seated,  and  your  "  head  like  a  smoke- 
jack/  '  what  kind  of  writings  embrace  the  widest  circle  of  readers,  and 
bid  the  fairest  to  nourish  in  never-fading  bloom  ?  Answer  :  Well- 
written  works  of  imagination.  If  you  say  political  works,  count  the 
readers  of  Locke  and  Sidney,  and  compare  them  with  those  of  Shak- 
speare,  Milton,  Dryden,  and  Pope.  If  you  choose  to  come  down  to 
the  present  day,  compare  the  readers  of  Hamilton  and  Madison  with 
those  of  Walter  Scott  and  Lord  Byron.  If  you  choose  to  institute 
the  comparison  between  grave  history  and  the  lighter  works  of  ima 
gination,  you  will  find  ten  to  one  in  favour  of  the  latter.  Robertson's 
Charles  Fifth,  for  example,  and  Tristram  Shandy. 

I  am  not  speaking  of  the  grade  or  quality  of  this  fame,  but  of  the 
spread,  the  propagation  and  continuity  of  the  article.  "  But  I  would 
rather  have  a  small  quantity  of  the  first  grade  than  a  large  quantity 
of  the  second."  Perhaps  you  would.  All  I  shall  say  about  it  is,  de 
gusiibus  non  est  dispulandwn.  I  would  rather  have  a  thousand 
dollars  in  bank-notes,  earned  by  innocent  pleasure,  than  a  hundred 
guineas  in  gold,  procured  by  marshing  and  ditching, 

Besides,  as  to  the  grade  itself,  I  am  not  quite  so  clear  that  the  man 
of  whom  it  was  truly  said, 

"  Each  change  of  many-coloured  life  he  drew, 
Exhausted  worlds,  and  then  imagined  new," 

does  not  deserve  a  fame  as  high  and  rich  as  the  man  who  relates  suc 
cessfully  the  crimes  of  nations,  or  disentangles  ever  so  dexterously  the 
political  skein.  This  being  the  case,  suppose  a  man  to  write  for  fame, 
what  course  should  he  take?  What  says  the  chancellor?  More 
especially  if  the  writer  be  so  encumbered  by  a  profession  as  to  have 
only  a  few  transient  snatches  of  leisure  which  he  can  devote  to  literary 
pursuits.  You  see  what  I  am  driving  at,  I  presume,  —  and  "  there 
fore  there  needs  no  more  to  be  said  here." 


We  unite  cordially  in  love. 

Yours,  ever, 

WM.  WIRT. 


CHAP.  XXIL]  LETTER  TO  GILMER.  349 

TO  FRANCIS  W.  GILMER. 

RICHMOND,  August  29,  1815. 
MY  DEAR  FRANCIS  : 

I  received  last  night  your  letter  of  the  15th  inst.,  announcing  your 
arrival  at  Winchester,  and  thank  you  for  this  early  attention  to  my 
anxiety  for  your  welfare.  We  have  you  at  last  fairly  pitted  on  the 
arena,  —  stripped,  oiled,  your  joints  all  lubricated  —  your  muscles 
braced — your  nerves  strung;  and  I  hope,  that  ere  long  we  shall  hear 
you  have  taken  the  victim  bull  by  the  horn,  with  your  left  hand, 


durosque  reducta 


Libravit  dextra  media  inter  cornua  csesttis 
Arduus,  effractoque  illisit  in  ossa  cerebro. 
Sternitur,  exanimisque  tremens  procumbit  humi  bos. 

I  perceive  that  you  are  going  to  work,  pell-mell,  nee  mora,  nee 
requies : — that's  your  sort — give  it  to  them  thicker  and  faster  ! 

Nunc  dextra  ingeminans  citus,  nunc  ille  sinistra. 

It  is  this  glow  and  enthusiasm  of  enterprise  that  is  to  carry  you  to 
the  stars.  But  then  bear  in  mind,  that  it  is  a  long  journey  to  the 
stars,  and  that  they  are  not  to  be  reached  per  saJ.tum.  "  Perse verando 
Vinces,"  ought  to  be  your  motto — and  you  should  write  it  in  the  first 
page  of  every  book  in  your  library.  Ours  is  not  a  profession,  in  which 
a  man  gets  along  by  a  hop,  step,  and  a  jump.  It  is  the  steady  march 
of  a  heavy  armed  legionary  soldier.  This  armour  you  have  yet,  in  a 
great  measure,  to  gain ;  to  learn  how  to  put  it  on ;  to  wear  it  without 
fatigue ;  to  fight  in  it  with  ease,  and  use  every  piece  of  it  to  the  best 
advantage.  I  am  against  your  extending  your  practice,  therefore,  to 
too  many  courts,  in  the  beginning.  I  would  not  wish  you  to  plunge 
into  an  extensive  practice  at  once.  It  will  break  up  your  reading,  and 
prevent  you  from  preparing  properly  for  that  higher  theatre  which  you 
ought  always  to  keep  intently  in  your  mind's  eye. 

For  two  or  three  years,  you  must  read,  sir — read — read — delve — 
meditate — study — and  make  the  whole  mine  of  the  law  your  own. 
For  two  or  three  years,  I  had  much  rather  that  your  appearances 
should  be  rare  and  splendid,  than  frequent,  light  and  vapid,  like  those 
of  the  young  country  practitioners  about  you. 

*  *  ***** 

Let  me  use  the  privilege  of  my  age  and  experience  to  give  you  a 
few  hints,  which,  now  that  you  are  beginning  the  practice,  you  may 
find  not  useless. 

1.  Adopt  a  system  of  life,  as  to  business  and  exercise;  and  never 
deviate  from  it,  except  so  far  as  you  may  be  occasionally  forced  by 
imperious  and  uncontrollable  circumstances. 

VOL.  I.  —  30 


350  RULES  FOR  BUSINESS.  [1815—1816. 

2.  Live  in  your  office;  i.  e.,  be  always  seen  in  it  except  at  the 
hours  of  eating  or  exercise. 

3.  Answer  all  letters  as  soon  as  they  are  received ;  you  know  not 
how  many  heart-aches  it  may  save  you.     Then  fold  neatly,  endorse 
neatly,  and  file  away  neatly,  alphabetically,  and  by  the  year,  all  the 
letters  so  received.     Let  your  letters  on  business  be  short,  and  keep 
copies  of  them. 

4.  Put  every  law  paper  in  its  place,  as  soon  as  received ;  and  let 
no  scrap  of  paper  be  seen  lying  for  a  moment,  on  your  writing  chair 
or  tables.     This  will  strike  the  eye  of  every  man  of  business  who 
enters. 

5.  Keep  regular  accounts  of  every  cent  of  income  and  expenditure, 
and  file  your  receipts  neatly,  alphabetically,  and  by  the  month,  or  at 
least  by  the  year. 

6.  Be  patient  with  your  foolish  clients,  and  hear  all  their  tedious 
circumlocution  and  repetitions  with  calm  and  kind  attention  ;  cross- 
examine  and  sift  them,  'till  you  know  all  the  strength  and  weakness 
of  their  cause,  and  take  notes  of  it  at  once  whenever  you  can  do  so. 

7.  File  your  bills  in  Chancery  at  the  moment  of  ordering  the  suit, 
and  while  your  client  is  yet  with  you  to  correct  your  statement  of  his 
case;  also  prepare  every  declaration  the  moment  the  suit  is  ordered, 
and  have  it  ready  to  file. 

8.  Cultivate  a  simple  style  of  speaking,  so  as  to  be  able  to  inject 
the  strongest  thought  into  the  weakest  capacity.     You  will  never  be 
a  good  jury  lawyer  without  this  faculty. 

9.  Never  attempt  to  be  grand  and  magnificent  before  common 
tribunals ; — and  the  most  you  will  address  are  common.     The  neglect 

of  this  principle  of  common  sense  has  ruined with  all  men  of 

sense. 

10.  Keep  your  Latin  and  Greek,  and  science,  to  yourself,  and  to 
that  very  small  circle  which  they  may  suit.     The  mean  and  envious 
world  will  never  forgive  you  your  knowledge,  if  you  make  it  too 
public.      It  will  require  the  most  unceasing  urbanity  and  habitual 
gentleness  of  manners,  almost  to  humility,  to  make  your  superior  at 
tainments  tolerable  to  your  associates. 

11.  Enter  with  warmth  and  kindness  into  the  interesting  concerns 
of  others — whether  you  care  much  for  them  or  not; — not  with  the 
condescension  of  a  superior,  but  with  the  tenderness  and  simplicity 

of  an  equal.     It  is  this  benevolent  trait  which  makes and 

such  universal  favourites — and,  more  than  any  thing  else,  has  smoothed 
my  own  path  of  life,  and  strewed  it  with  flowers. 

12.  Be  never  flurried  in  speaking,  but  learn  to  assume  the  exterior 
of  composure  and  self-collectedness,  whatever  riot  and  confusion  may 
be  within ;  speak  slowly,  firmly,  distinctly,  and  mark  your  periods  by 
proper  pauses,  and  a  steady  significant  look: — " Trick \"     True, — 
but  a  good  trick;  and  a  sensible  trick. 


CHAP.  XXII.]  LETTER  TO  CARR.  351 

You  talk  of  complimenting  your  adversaries.  Take  care  of  your 
manner  of  doing  this.  Let  it  be  humble  and  sincere,  and  not  as  if 
you  thought  it  was  in  your  power  to  give  them  importance  by  your 
fiat.  You  see  how  natural  it  is  for  old  men  to  preach,  and  how  much 
easier  to  preach  than  to  practise.  Yet  you  must  not  slight  my  ser 
mons,  for  I  wish  you  to  be  much  greater  than  I  ever  was  or  can  hope 
to  be.  Our  friend  Carr  will  tell  you  that  my  maxims  are  all  sound. 
Practise  them,  and  I  will  warrant  your  success.  You  have  more 
science  and  literature  than  T ; — but  I  know  a  good  deal  more  of  the 
world  and  of  life,  and  it  will  be  much  cheaper  for  you  to  profit  by  my 
experience  and  miscarriages  than  by  your  own.  Nothing  is  so  apt  to 
tincture  the  manners  of  a  young  man  with  hauteur,  and  with  a  cold 
and  disdainful  indifference  towards  others,  as  conscious  superiority; 
and  nothing  is  so  fatal  to  his  progress  through  life,  as  such  a  tincture  : 

witness .     My  friend himself,  is  not  without  some  ill  effect 

from  it ;  and  since  you  must  feel  this  superiority,  I  cannot  be  without 
fear  of  its  usual  effects. 

You  must  not  suppose  because  I  give  you  precepts  on  particular 
subjects,  that  I  have  observed  you  deficient  in  these  respects ;  on  the 
contrary,  it  is  only  by  way  of  prevention ;  and  whether  my  precepts 
are  necessary  to  you  or  not,  you  are  too  well  asifured  of  my  affection 
to  take  them  otherwise  than  in  good  part.  Farewell — my  letters 
shall  not  all  be  lectures. 

Yours  affectionately, 

WM.  WIRT. 

TO   JUDGE   CARR. 

RICHMOND,  January  12,  1816. 

MY  EVER  BEAR  FllIEND  : 

*  ***** 

I  have,  indeed,  had  a  tough  spell  through  the  latter  part  of  the 
fall.  It  was  the  effect,  I  believe,  of  a  very  severe  cold,  which  I  feared, 
at  one  time,  had  fallen  on  my  lungs,  from  the  ugly  and  obstinate 
cough  which  attended  it ;  and  there  were  times,  I  confess,  when  the 
apprehension  of  being  taken  from  my  family  just  when  iny  toils  and 
plans  seemed  ripening  to  a  harvest  of  independence  for  them,  de 
pressed  me  rather  more  than  became  a  philosopher  or  a  Christian, — 
which,  however  much  I  wish,  I  fear  I  shall  never  approach  nearer, 
than  a  few  transient  aspirations. 

******* 

As  for  Patrick, — he  is  the  very  toughest  subject  that  I  ever  coped 
withal.  If  I  have  any  knack  at  all  in  writing,  it  is  in  copying  after 
nature  :  not  merely  in  drawing  known  characters,  but  in  painting  the 
images  in  my  own  mind,  and  the  feelings  of  my  heart.  In  this  walk, 
I  have  occasionally  succeeded  almost  to  my  own  entire  satisfaction. 


352  THE  BIOGRAPHY.  [1815—1816. 

But  Patrick  was  altogether  terra  incognita  to  me.  I  had  never  seen 
him ;  and  the  portraits  of  him  which  had  been  furnished  me  were  so 
various  and  contradictory  as  to  seem  to  confound  rather  than  inform 
me.  Hence  I  have  never  been  able  to  embody  him.  My  imagina 
tion  found  no  resting  place  throughout  the  whole  work ;  but  from  be 
ginning  to  end,  fluttered  like  Noah's  dove  over  a  dreary  waste  of 
waters,  without  spying  even  a  floating  leaf  of  olive,  much  less  of  laurel. 
"What  I  wrote  without  satisfaction,  it  is  reasonable  to  conclude  will  be 
read  in  the  same  way.  Disappointed  myself,  I  am  very  certain  that 
I  shall  disappoint  others.  But  this  conclusion  has  now  become  fa 
miliar  to  me,  and  the  pain  is  over.  You  are  wrong,  be  assured,  my 
dearest  friend,  in  supposing  that  this  work  will  redound  more  to  my 
fame  than  any  thing  I  have  ever  written.  It  is  not  every  subject  on 
which  a  man  can  succeed : — "ex  quovis  ligno,"  you  know. — If  I  am 
not  mistaken,  this  subject  would  have  been  found  impracticable  to  any 
one ;  that  is,  nothing  great  could  have  been  made  of  it  in  narrative. 
A  panegyric,  and  a  splendid  one,  too,  of  a  dozen  pages  might  be 
Written  on  it,  but  the  detail  must  be  trivial  if  the  incidents  be  truly 
told.  In  truth,  I  hate  excessively  to  be  trammelled  in  writing,  by 
matter  of  fact.  Don't  be  so  mischievous  as  to  mistake  me.  I  mean 
that  my  habit  of  composition  has  always  been  to  draw  only  from  my 
own  stores,  with  my  fancy  and  my  heart  both  as  free  as  the  winds. 
Reined  in  by  the  necessity  of  detailing  stubborn  facts,  I  find  that  the 
gaits  of  my  Pegasus  are  all  to  be  formed  anew ;  for  he  trots,  prances 
and  gallops  altogether  in  the  same  period.  If  you  do  not  understand 
me  now,  you  must  wait  till  I  can  borrow  an  exposition  from  Philoso 
pher  Ogilvie.  But  before  we  dismiss  Patrick  finally,  you  will  find  in 
the  Port  Folio  for  December,  an  extract  from  my  biography,  furnished 
at  the  desire  of  Hall,  the  editor,  and  you  will  see  in  that  extract  what 
has  been  thought  by  several,  who  have  read  the  manuscript,  one  of 
the  happiest  passages  if  not  the  happiest  passage,  in  my  book,  from 
which  you  will  judge  of  the  miser  ability  of  the  rest. 

No,  the  work  is  not  in  the  press.  It  shall  not  go  until  I  can  get 
leisure  to  file  off  some  of  its  asperities.  I  wish  to  heaven,  you  could 
see  it ! — and  it  shall  go  hard,  but  you  shall,  before  it  passes  to  the 
press ;  for  I  am  in  no  hurry  to  be  damned. 

The  candid  and  sensible  reader  will,  indeed,  as  you  say,  allow  for 
the  subject ;  but  of  the  thousands  of  readers  on  whom  fame  depends, 
how  many  are  there,  think  you,  who  are  sensible  and  candid  ?  how 
many  will  there  be,  predisposed  to  dash  my  thimblefull  of  reputation 
from  my  lips  ?  But  enough  of  this — for  if  I  keep  prating  about  it, 
I  shall  confirm  you  in  the  conjecture  that  it  is  preying  on  my  spirits. 
I  give  you  my  word  that  I  have  not  said  or  thought  so  much  about  it 
for  two  months,  as  I  have  since  I  began  to  scribble  this  letter. 
#  #  *•  *  •*  # 

I  am  now,  sir,  in  full  and  high  health ;  not  quite  indeed  so  brim- 


CHAP.  XXII.]  MR.  UPSHUR.  353 

ful  of  expectation  as  I  was  when  you  first  knew  me,  about  twenty 
years  ago,  but  still  with  a  reasonable  appetite  for  the  good  things  of 
the  world.  Disappointed  indeed,  as  to  some  of  my  calculations  of 
happiness,  yet  by  no  means  disposed  to  cry  out  with  Solomon,  "  all  is 
vanity  and  vexation  of  spirit. "  If  Solomon  had  had  such  a  wife  and 
children,  and  such  friends  as  I  have,  he  would  have  changed  his  note. 
His  exclamation  upon  the  vanity  of  all  sublunary  things,  has  always 
struck  me  rather  as  the  sentiment  of  a  cloyed  and  sated  debauchee, 
than  that  of  a  contemplative  philosopher.  What  vanity  or  vexation 
of  spirit  is  there  in  the  temperate  indulgence  of  our  affections ;  in  the 
love-beam  that  plays  upon  me  from  the  eyes  of  my  wife ;  in  the  un 
tutored  caresses  of  my  beloved  children;  in  these  tender  inquiries 
from  the  best  of  friends  which  lie  before  me ;  or  in  this  tear,  which 
the  consciousness  of  these  purest  of  earthly  possessions  calls  into  my 
eyes  ?  If  on  subjects  of  this  sort  Solomon  was  wise,  let  me  remain 
a  fool.  What  say  you  ? 

#  *  *  *  #  * 

My  wife  and  children  unite  with  me  in  love  to  your  fire-side. 
If  you  know  what  heartfelt  pleasure  your  letters  afford  me,  and 
enjoy  the  leisure  which  I  hope  you  do,  you  would  write  to  me  soon 
and  often. 

May  God  bless  you  and  make  you  happy ! 

Your  friend  in  life  and  in  death, 

WM.  WIRT. 

About  this  time  George  Hay,  the  attorney  of  the  United  States 
for  the  Richmond  district,  resigned  his  post.  Amongst  several  gen 
tlemen  of  Virginia  whose  names  were  submitted  to  Mr.  Madison  for 
the  appointment  to  this  office,  was  that  of  one  who  subsequently  at 
tained  to  high  distinction  in  the  public  councils,  and  whose  death  ac 
quired  a  most  painful  celebrity  by  its  association  with  the  melancholy 
accident  on  board  of  the  Princeton  —  Abel  P.  Upshur.  He  had 
studied  law  under  the  direction  of  Wirt,  who  now  presented  him  to 
the  President,  in  terms  suggested  by  the  highest  appreciation  of  his 
talents,  and  by  a  strong  personal  friendship.  This  incident  is  only 
worthy  of  notice  here,  so  far  as  Mr.  Wirt's  letter,  on  the  occasion, 
affords  us  an  insight  to  the  abated  temper  of  partisan  feeling  which 
had  already  begun  to  be  manifested,  and  which  was  an  index  to  that 
calm  and  appeased  political  sentiment  which  prevailed  in  the  admin 
istration  of  public  affairs  for  some  years  succeeding  this  event.  After 
speaking  the  language  of  the  warmest  praise  on  the  merits  of  his 
friend,  he  adds, — "  It  is  proper  for  me  to  state  that  he  is  a  Federal- 
30*  x 


354          WIRT  APPOINTED  DISTRICT  ATTORNEY.     [1815—1816. 

ist," — but  to  qualify  this  draw-back,  he  continues — "  he  justified  the 
late  war  with  Great  Britain,  and  was  among  the  volunteers  who 

marched  to  York  Town  to  meet  the  enemy. 

"  I  am  entirely  certain  that  no  differences 

of  political  sentiment  would  ever  swerve  him  from  his  duty,  or  abate, 
in  the  smallest  degree,  the  zeal  proper  for  its  discharge.  How  far, 
in  the  present  condition  of  the  country,  his  political  creed  ought  to 
operate  as  a  bar  to  his  appointment,  or  whether  its  tendency  would 
not  rather  be  to  soothe  the  exasperation  of  parly,  and  promote  the 
coalescence  which  is  so  desirable  on  every  account,  and  of  which  we 
have  such  promising  omens,  it  is  not  for  me  to  decide.  I  submit  the 
proposition  with  great  deference,  and  rely  upon  your  usual  indulgence 
to  excuse  this  liberty." 

This  letter  to  Mr.  Madison  was  written  on  the  10th  of  March, 
1816.  The  writer  of  it  was  a  little  surprised  to  find,  by  a  letter  from 
Mr.  Madison  to  him,  dated  on  the  13th,  that  the  subject  had  been 
already  settled  by  the  selection  of  himself  for  the  appointment. 
It  was  an  event  altogether  unlocked  for,  and  equally  undesired. 
Coming  upon  him  in  this  unexpected  way,  and  with  expressions  of 
the  kindest  personal  interest  from  the  President,  the  appointment 
somewhat  embarrassed  him ;  but,  after  deliberating,  he  thought  it  his 
duty  to  accept  it. 

In  communicating  this  determination  to  the  President,  he  says,  in 
a  letter  of  the  23d  of  March,  —  "I  beg  you  to  believe  me  unaffect 
edly  sincere  in  declaring  that  there  is  nothing  in  the  office  which  ex 
cites  any  solicitude,  on  my  part,  to  possess  it ;  and  that  I  feel  myself 
much  more  highly  honoured  by  the  terms  in  which  you  were  so  good 
as  to  make  the  inquiry,  than  I  should  by  the  possession  of  the  office 
itself.  So  far  am  I,  indeed,  from  being  solicitous  to  possess  it,  that  I 
assure  you,  with  the  frankness  which  I  hope  our  long  acquaintance 
warrants,  your  bestowing  it  on  any  one  of  the  many  gentlemen  of  my 
profession  in  this  State  who  are,  at  least,  equally  entitled  to  it,  and 
stand,  perhaps,  in  greater  need  of  it,  will  not,  in  the  smallest  degree, 
mortify  me  nor  diminish  the  respect  and  affection  with  which  I  am 
and  ever  have  been  your  friend/' 

It  was  but  a  few  weeks  before  the  date  of  these  letters,  that  Wirt 
had  argued  his  cause  in  the  Supreme  Court,  and  had  "  broken  a  lance 
with  Pinkney," — as  he  himself  described  it. 


CHAP.  XXII.]  WILLIAM   PINKNEY.  355 

These  two  gentlemen  had  here  commenced  an  acquaintance,  which 
was  afterwards  illustrated  by  many  passages  of  dialectic  and  forensic 
skill  in  a  course  of  eager  competition  and  constant  association  in  the 
same  forum.  No  one  was  more  prompt  to  do  justice  to  Pinkney's  ex 
traordinary  abilities,  after  the  best  opportunities  to  observe  them,  than 
Wirt.  His  mature  opinion  of  his  great  competitor  was  freely  ex 
pressed,  and  well  known  in  the  circle  in  which  they  both  moved.  But 
Wirt's  first  impressions  of  him,  derived  from  this  trial,  are  singularly 
variant  from  those  which  a  more  intimate  acquaintance  afterwards 
gave  him.  We  have  a  letter  to  Gilmer,  soon  after  this  first  encounter, 
which  presents  a  picture  of  Pinkney,  far  from  nattering.  Pinkney 
was,  at  that  time,  in  the  zenith  of  his  fame.  He  was  the  chief  ob 
ject  of  interest  in  the  Supreme  Court,  and  the  most  prominent  sub 
ject  of  popular  criticism.  No  man  ever  drew  forth  a  larger  share  of 
mingled  applause  and  censure,  or  was  visited  with  more  exaggerated 
extremes  of  opinion.  While  one  class  of  observers  saw  in  his  oratory 
nothing  short  of  the  most  perfect  of  forensic  accomplishment;  another 
could  scarcely  find  merit  enough  in  his  best  endeavours  to  rescue  them 
from  the  utter  condemnation  to  which  they  alleged  his  dogmatism, 
false  taste  and  frigid  affectations  entitled  them.  Impartial  and  judi 
cious  estimate  of  his  power  and  acquirements  seems  rarely  to  have 
been  accorded  to  him. 

We  may  ascribe  these  conflicting  judgments  to  some  peculiarities 
in  Pinkney's  character  and  position.  At  the  bar,  his  port  towards 
those  who  occupied  the  most  eminent  station  was  antagonistical  and 
defiant.  He  waged  with  all  such  an  unceasing  war  for  supremacy. 
He  gave  no  ground  himself,  and  asked  no  favours.  His  courtesy  in 
this  arena  was  a  mere  formula,  and  rather  suggested  conflict  than 
avoided  it.  His  manner  was  alert  and  guarded,  his  brow  severe,  his 
civilities  short  and  measured,  like  a  swordsman  in  the  theatre  when 
the  "noble  art  of  defence' '  drew  crowds  together  to  witness  the  trials 
of  skill.  All  this  portion  of  the  bar,  constituting  a  most  intelligent 
and  critical  auditory,  were  the  fastidious  and  unsparing  witnesses  of 
his  fame,  and  often  spoke  of  him,  in  no  mitigated  terms  of  exception 
to  whatever  defect  of  taste  or  judgment  they  were  able  to  detect. 
Opposed  to  these  were  the  younger  members  of  the  profession,  not 
yet  within  the  pale  of  rivalry,  to  whom  Pinkney  was  habitually 


356  WILLIAM  PINKNEY.  [1815—1816. 

courteous  and  kind.  It  seemed  to  be  a  cherished  object  of  his  to  win 
the  good-will  of  this  class  of  his  professional  associates.  He  was  to 
them  the  pleasant  companion,  full  of  condescensions  and  small  civili 
ties.  He  noticed  their  progress,  praised  their  efforts,  instructed, 
encouraged  them,  and  almost  invariably  enlisted  them  in  the  support 
of  his  own  renown.  He  was  an  eager  sportsman  in  the  field,  untiring 
in  a  day's  work  with  his  gun;  an  excellent  shot,  and  studiously 
learned  in  all  the  technicals  of  this  craft.  This  gave  him  acceptance 
and  favour  amongst  another  circle.  He  was  profuse  and  splendid  in 
his  mode  of  living,  utterly  careless  of  expense,  munificent  and  osten 
tatious.  He  was  popular  as  a  political  champion,  and  rendered  good 
service  to  his  cause  in  some  noted  contests  in  Maryland,  in  which  he 
was  accustomed  to  meet  the  most  effective  champions  of  a  party  dis 
tinguished  for  its  talents  and  intelligence.  He  had  acquired  a  high 
standing  in  the  country  for  his  diplomatic  service,  which  had  elevated 
him,  in  public  opinion,  both  at  home  and  abroad.  He  had  served 
with  conspicuous  success  as  the  Attorney-General  of  the  United 
States,  in  the  administration  of  Mr.  Madison.  He  was  a  zealous  and 
ardent  supporter  of  the  war;  had  taken  a  commission  from  the  Ex 
ecutive  of  Maryland,  and  commanded  a  rifle-battalion  at  the  time  of 
the  invasion  of  the  capital,  and  shared  in  the  disaster  at  Bladensburg, 
where  he  was  wounded  in  the  fight.  All  these  circumstances  com 
bined  to  draw  upon  him  a  large  portion  of  public  observation,  and  to 
attract,  on  one  side,  as  much  exaggerated  praise,  as,  on  another,  to 
expose  him  to  the  virulence  of  partisan  antipathy,  or  to  the  invidious 
reflection  of  personal  rivalry  and  dislike. 

Pinkney's  first  accost  raised  an  unfavourable  prepossession  in  Wirt's 
mind  against  him,  as  will  be  seen  in  the  following  letter,  from  which 
I  make  some  extracts;  premising,  what  I  have  already  hinted  to  the 
reader,  that  these  opinions  were  greatly  modified  when  the  writer  of 
this  letter  had  more  full  opportunity  to  witness  and  appreciate  the 
power  of  his  opponent.  We  may  regard  the  present  comments  as 
expressing  the  disappointment  of  one  who  had  formed  his  judgment 
of  oratory  in  an  entirely  different  school  from  that  of  which  he  was 
now  furnished  a  specimen.  Nothing  could  be  more  diverse  than  the 
distinctive  characters  of  the  eloquence  of  Pinkney  and  Wirt.  The 
slow  consent  of  one  to  admit  the  eminent  claim  of  the  other,  was  but 
a  natural  reluctance  of  opinion. 


CHAP.  XXIL]      WIRT'S  FIRST  ESTIMATE  OF  HIM.  357 

TO  FRANCIS  W.   GILMER. 

RICHMOND,  April  1,  1816 
MY  DEAR  FRANCIS  : 

•*  •*  #  *  -x-  -fc 

"  I  wish  I  had  been  trained  to  industry  and  method  in  the  counting- 
room  of  a  Scotch  merchant  from  the  age  of  twelve,  and  whipped  out 
of  those  lazy  and  sauntering  habits  which  fastened  upon  me  about  that 
age,  and  have  held  uthe  fee-simple  of  the  bark"  ever  since.  Your 
truly  great  man  does  more  business,  and  has  more  leisure  and  more 
peace  of  conscience,  and  more  positive  happiness,  than  any  forty  of 
your  mediocre  persons.  This  is  humiliating  to  me,  and  I  don't  like 
to  think  of  it.  But,  do  you  profit  by  it,  and  habituate  yourself  to  the 
practice  of  Mr.  Jefferson's  system.  *  Make  the 

axle  glow  with  the  ardour  of  your  exercise,  and  the  anvil  ring  with 
the  vigour  of  your  preparation.  Teach  these  boys,  as  Pinkney  said 
he  would  do,  '  a  new  style  of  speaking/  But  let  it  be  a  better  one 
than  his ;  I  mean  his  solemn  style,  to  which,  in  Irish  phrase,  I  give 
the  back  of  my  hand.  If  that  be  a  good  style,  then  all  the  models, 
both  ancient  and  modern,  which  we  have  been  accustomed  to  contem 
plate  as  truly  great, — such  as  Crassus,  Antony,  Cicero,  the  prolo 
cutors  of  the  Dialogue  '  De  Causis  corruptas  eloquentiae/  Chatham, 
Henry,  and  others, — not  forgetting  <  Paul  Jones  and  old  Charon/ — 
are  all  pretenders.  I  know  that  this  is  not  your  opinion.  But  I  was 
near  him  five  or  six  weeks,  and  watched  him  narrowly.  He  has 
nothing  of  the  rapid  and  unerring  analysis  of  Marshall,  but  he  has,  in 
lieu  of  it,  a  dogmatizing  absoluteness  of  manner  which  passes  with 
the  million, — which,  by-the-bye,  includes  many  more  than  we  should 
at  first  suspect, — for  an  evidence  of  power ;  and  he  has  acquired  with 
those  around  him  a  sort  of  papal  infallibility.  That  manner  is  a 
piece  of  acting  :  it  is  artificial,  as  you  may  see  by  the  wandering  of 
his  eye,  and  is  as  far  removed  from  the  composed  confidence  of 
enlightened  certainty  as  it  is  from  natural  modesty.  Socrates  con 
fessed  that  all  the  knowledge  he  had  been  able  to  acquire  seemed 
only  to  convince  him  that  he  knew  nothing.  This  frankness  is  one 
of  the  most  characteristic  traits  of  a  great  mind.  Pinkney  would 
,make  you  believe  that  he  knows  every  thing. 

"  At  the  bar  he  is  despotic,  and  cares  as  little  for  his  colleagues  or  ad 
versaries  as  if  they  were  men  of  wood.  He  has  certainly  much  the 
advantage  of  any  of  them  in  forensic  show.  Give  him'  time — and  he 
requires  not  much — and  he  will  deliver  a  speech  which  any  man  might 
be  proud  to  claim.  You  will  have  good  materials,  very  well  put 
together,  and  clothed  in  a  costume  as  magnificent  as  that  of  Louis 
XIV. ;  But  you  will  have  a  vast  quantity  of  false  fire,  besides  a  vehe 
mence  of  intonation  for  which  you  see  nothing  to  account  in  the  cha* 


358  SELF-CRITICISM.  [1815—1816. 

racter  of  the  thought.  His  arguments,  when  I  heard  him,  were  such 
as  would  have  occurred  to  any  good  mind  of  the  profession.  It  was 
his  mode  of  introducing,  dressing  and  incorporating  them,  which  con 
stituted  their  chief  value — l  materiem  superabit  opus/  *  * 
In  the  cause  in  which  we  were  engaged 

against  each  other,  there  never  was  a  case  more  hopeless  of  eloquence 
since  the  world  began.  It  was  a  mere  question  between  the  repre 
sentatives  of  a  dead  collector  and  a  living  one,  as  to  the  distribution 
of  the  penalty  of  an  embargo  bond : — whether  the  representatives  of 
the  deceased  collector,  who  had  performed  all  the  duties  and  recovered 
the  judgment,  or  the  living  collector,  who  came  in  about  the  time  the 
money  was  paid  by  the  defendant  into  court,  and  had,  therefore,  done 
none  of  the  duties,  was  entitled  to  the  award.  I  was  for  the  repre 
sentatives  of  the  deceased  collector — Pinkney  for  the  living  one.  You 
perceive  that  his  client  was  a  mere  harpy,  who  had  no  merits  whatever 
to  plead.  There  were  ladies  present — and  Pinkney  was  expected  to 
be  eloquent  at  all  events.  So,  the  mode  he  adopted  was  to  get  into 
his  tragical  tone  in  discussing  the  construction  of  an  act  of  Congress. 
Closing  his  speech  in  this  solemn  tone,  he  took  his  seat,  saying  to  me; 
with  a  smile — ( that  will  do  for  the  ladies/  *  *  * 

He  is  certainly  not  of  the  olden  school/' 

As  a  counterpart  to  this,  we  have  a  criticism  of  himself  in  the  same 
cause,  in  a  letter  to  Carr ;  with  some  comment,  besides,  on  his  drama 
tic  experiment,  in  regard  to  which  his  friend  had  shown  himself  a 
rather  partial  judge. 

TO   JUDGE   CARR. 

RICHMOND,  April  7,  1816. 

And  can  you,  my  beloved  friend,  who  have  known  the  very  bottom 
and  core  of  my  heart  so  long  and  so  intimately, — who  have  had  a 
home  in  that  heart  for  twenty  years,  suspect  for  one  moment,  any 
decay  of  my  affection  for  you  ?  No  !  I  cannot  believe  it  possible. 
Indeed,  the  very  tone  of  this  letter,  which  I  have  just  received  from 
you,  assures  me  of  the  reverse,  notwithstanding  some  half-insinuations 
to  the  contrary.  The  truth  is,  if  I  had  been  satisfied  with  my  own 
figure  at  Washington,  you  would  have  heard  from  me  on  the  spot ; 
but  I  was  most  dissatisfied.  And  good  reason  I  had  to  be  so — for  it 
was  a  mean  and  sneaking  figure  I  made  in  that  cause ; — and  your 
friends  either  deceive  you  from  kindness,  or  have  been  deceived  them 
selves.  I  was  never  more  displeased  with  any  speech  I  have  made 
since  I  commenced  practice.  Having  once  argued  the  cause  here,  to 
my  satisfaction,  I  relied  upon  my  notes  for  recalling  every  topic  to 
my  mind ;  and  this  the  more  especially,  as  the  Court  of  Appeals  held 


CHAP.  XXII.]      HIS  ENCOUNTER  WITH  PINKNEY.  359 

me  under  the  lash  to  the  very  moment  of  my  departure.  But  behold, 
when  I  was  about  to  set  out,  my  notes  were  nowhere  to  be  found. 
My  only  hope  then  was  that  I  should  be  able  to  recall  the  arguments 
by  meditation  in  the  stage  j  and  I  determined  to  be  very  sour,  sulky 
and  silent  to  my  fellow-passengers,  that  I  might  abstract  myself  from 
them  and  have  an  opportunity  of  study ;  but  this,  you  know,  is  not 
in  my  nature — and  so  I  reached  Alexandria  without  one  idea  upon 
the  subject.  My  consolation  then  was,  that  I  should  have  one  day  in 
Washington  before  the  cause  came  on, — and  to  effect  this,  I  left  Alex 
andria  when  the  stage  arrived,  at  about  ten  o'clock  on  Tuesday  night, 
and  went  to  Washington  that  night.  I  got  to  McQueen's  about  eleven. 
In  two  minutes  after,  Dr.  F.  came  in,  so  delighted  to  see  me,  that  I 
could  not  find  it  in  my  heart  to  resist  his  earnest  desire  that  I  would 
sit  with  him  and  have  a  talk,  because  he  had  much  to  say  to  me  of 
deep  import  to  himself,  and  had  been  longing  for  my  arrival,  that  he 
might  unbosom  himself  to  me.  He  thus  kept  me  up  till  two  o'clock. 

Immediately  after  breakfast  I  retired  to  my  room,  borrowed  the 
acts  of  Congress,  on  which  my  cause  arose,  and  had  just  seated  my 
self  to  study,  when  several  of  my  warm-hearted  friends  rushed  into 
my  room  and  held  me  engaged  'till  court  hour.  So  it  was  again  in 
the  evening;  and  so,  on  Thursday  morning.  In  this  hopeless  situa 
tion  I  went  to  court  to  try  the  tug  of  war  with  the  renowned  Pink- 
ney.  When  I  thought  of  my  situation, — of  the  theatre  on  which  I 
was  now  to  appear  for  the  first  time,  the  expectation  which  I  was  told 
was  excited,  and  saw  the  assembled  multitude  of  ladies  and  gentle 
men  from  every  quarter  of  the  Union,  you  may  guess  my  feelings. 
Had  I  been  prepared,  how  should  I  have  gloried  in  that  theatre,  that 
concourse,  and  that  adversary !  As  it  was,  my  dear  wife  and  chil 
dren,  and  your  features,  look,  and  sympathetic  voice  and  friendly  in 
quietude,  came  over  me  like  evil  spirits.  To  be  sure,  these  conside 
rations  gave  me  a  sort  of  desperate,  ferocious,  bandit-like  resolution : 
but  what  is  mere  brute  resolution  with  a  totally  derfuded  intellect  ?  I 
gave,  indeed,  some  hits  which  produced  a  visible  and  animating  eifect ; 
but  rny  courage  sank,  and  I  suppose  my  manner  fell,  under  the  con 
scious  imbecility  of  my  argument.  I  was  comforted,  however,  by 
finding  that  Pinkney  mended  the  matter  very  little,  if  at  all. 

Had  the  cause  been  to  argue  over  again  on  the  next  day,  I  could 
have  shivered  him ;  for  his  discussion  revived  all  my  forgotten  topics, 
and,  as  I  lay  in  my  bed  on  the  following  morning,  arguments  poured 
themselves  out  before  me  as  from  a  cornucopia.  I  should  have  wept 
at  the  consideration  of  what  I  had  lost,  if  I  had  not  prevented  it  by 
leaping  out  of  bed  and  beginning  to  sing  and  dance  like  a  maniac, — 
to  the  great  diversion  of  F.,  who  little  suspected  what  was  passing  in 
niy  mind. 

This  is  all  true.  I  know  you  will  abuse  me  for  it;  but  it  is  true 
still ;  and  I  had  rather  be  abused  than  to  deceive  you. 


360      DESIRES  TO  PRACTISE  IN  SUPREME  COURT.   [1815—1816. 

I  must  somehow  or  other  contrive  to  get  another  cause  in  that  court, 
that  I  may  show  them  I  can  do  better.  I  should  like  to  practise 
there.  For  although  you  say,  you  believe  I  do  not  know  my  own 
strength,  you  will  change  that  opinion  when  I  tell  you  I  am  not  afraid 
of  any  man  on  that  arena,  —  not  even  of  the  Chevalier  Pinkney, 
whom  I  would  at  any  time  rather  encounter  than  Tazewell.  Pinkney 
has,  for  the  while,  debauched  the  public  taste  by  a  false  manner,  just 
as  Quin  and  his  coadjutors  of  the  old  stage  did,  according  to  Cum 
berland's  account.  The  misfortune  is,  that  there  is  no  Garrick  at 
Washington  to  raise  the  standard  of  nature.  As  to  myself,  I  know 
that  I  have  no  pretensions  to  oratory.  My  manner,  never  carefully 
formed,  has  become  too  unalterably  fixed  to  be  improved  at  my  time 
of  life.  Besides,  I  have  not  the  off-hand  fertility  of  thought,  the 
prompt  fecundity  of  invention,  and  the  extemporaneous  bloom  of  ima 
gination,  which  are  all  essential  to  the  orator.  But  I  say  again  that, 
with  full  preparation,  I  should  not  be  afraid  of  a  comparison  with 
Pinkney,  at  any  point,  before  genuine  judges  of  correct  debate.  Now 
think  me  over-modest,  if  you  can. 

I  regret  extremely  that  the  time  of  session  of  our  Court  of  Ap 
peals  disables  me  from  attending  the  Supreme  Court :  but  if  our 
Court  adopt  a  plan  which  they  talk  of, — that  is,  of  having  a  summer 
and  fall  session, — I  will  try  my  luck  at  Washington  as  soon  as  I  can 
get  a  cause  or  two,  by  way  of  commencement.  So  much  for  this 
great  affair.  *  * 

I  protest  against  your  measuring  me  by  the  standard  of  Sheridan. 
He  was  a  diamond  wit,  not  only  of  the  first  water,  but  of  the  highest 
polish.  He  had  the  advantage  of  a  constant  attendance  at  the  first- 
theatre  in  Europe,  where  he  saw  the  public  taste  tried  by  every  variety 
of  application.  Compared  with  his,  my  opportunities  are  those  of  a 
back-woods'  bear-hunter,  measured  with  those  of  the  courtly  Wick- 
ham.  I  am  about  as  fit  to  rival  Sheridan  as  a  bat  a  towering  eagle. 
I  foresaw,  from  your  frequent  mention  of  Sheridan,  what  your  mind 
was  running  on.  If  you  have  looked  for  his  invention  of  comic  inci 
dents,  his  percussion  and  re-percussion  of  sprightly  and  brilliant  dia 
logues,  his  delicate  and  varied  tints  of  wit  and  humour,  his  splendid 
flashes  of  fancy,  you  have  been  unreasonable,  and  are  therefore  justly 
punished  by  disappointment. 

#*#*#** 

I  need  not  tell  you  how  sincerely  I  rejoice  in  the  brilliancy  of 
Frank's  debut.  The  plainness  of  his  manner,  in  particular,  charms 
me.  I  was  a  little  afraid  he  would  be  too  fond  of  the  pomp  of  ex 
pression  though  I  never  doubted  that  experience  and  his  own  sound 
judgment  would  correct  the  error.  That  he  should  have  gone  off 
right,  is,  therefore,  so  much  the  more  pleasing.  He  is  a  fine  fellow, 
and  born,  I  hope,  to  redeem  the  eloquence  of  the  State. 

Your  friend, 
L  WM.  WIRT 


CUAP.  XXII.]  LETTER  TO  MR.  JEFFERSON.  361 

The  biography  was  now  approaching  its  completion.  The  author 
was  manifestly  disheartened  by  his  work.  His  letters  to  his  intimate 
friends  are  full  of  distrust  upon  the  merits  of  his  performance.  He 
seems  to  have  indulged  this  sentiment  so  far  as  almost  to  meditate  the 
abandonment  of  the  publication  of  the  book.  The  counsel  of  Mr. 
Jefferson  and  others,  cheered  him,  revived  his  confidence,  and  finally 
settled  the  point  of  committing  the  volume  to  the  public. 

The  following  letters  upon  this  subject,  furnish  some  curious  pas 
sages  in  literary  history. 

. .  '  r  _- 

TO    THOMAS   JEFFERSON. 

RICHMOND,  August  24,1816. 
DEAR  SIR  : 

I  accept,  with  gratitude,  the  terms  on  which  you  are  willing  to  re 
mark  on  my  manuscript;  and  send,  herewith,  three  sections,  ninety- 
one  pages. 

There  will  be  an  advertisement  prefixed  to  it,  stating  the  authorities 
on  which  the  narrative  is  founded,  and  appealing  to  the  candour  and 
indulgence  of  the  public  on  account  of  the  peculiar  disadvantages 
under  which  the  work  has  been  written. 

This,  I  confess,  is  a  kind  of  beggarly  business  which  I  abhor  very 
much ;  but  I  can  still  less  bear  to  have  it  believed  that  the  work  is 
the  offspring  of  profound  leisure,  and  a  mind  at  ease ;  when  the  truth 
is  that  no  one  sheet  of  it,  scarcely,  has  been  written  without  half  a 
dozen  professional  interruptions,  which  have  routed  my  ideas  as  com 
pletely,  each  time,  as  Don  Quixote's  charge  did  the  flock  of  sheep. 
I  make  no  doubt  you  will  perceive  the  chasms  caused  by  these  in 
terruptions,  and  the  incoherence,  as  well  as  crudeness,  of  the  whole 
mass. 

When  I  was  engaging  with  Webster,  last  summer,  with  respect  to 
the  publication,  I  refused  expressly  to  bind  myself  to  furnish  it  at 
any  particular  period, — foreseeing  the  extreme  uncertainty  as  to  the 
time  of  its  completion,  from  the  interference  of  professional  duties, 
and  wishing  to  reserve  to  myself,  also,  full  leisure,  to  revise,  correct, 
and  retrench  at  pleasure.  But  he  has  made  such  an  appeal  to  my 
humanity,  on  account  of  the  expensiveness  of  the  materials  which 
he  has  laid  in  for  the  publication,  and  his  inability  to  remain  longer 
without  some  reimbursement,  that  I  am  much  disposed  to  let  the  work 
go,  in  its  present  general  form,  if  you  think  it  can  be  done  without 
too  much  sacrifice. 

What  I  mean  is,  that  I  think  the  whole  work  might  be  recast  to 
advantage.  But  then,  it  must  be  written  wholly,  anew,  which  would 
ill  suit  Webster's  alleged  situation :  my  disposition,  therefore,  is  to 

VOL.  I. — 31 


362  CORRESPONDENCE  WITH  JEFFERSON.    [1815-1816. 

let  the  form  of  the  work  remain,  connecting  the  composition,  state 
ments,  &c.,  where  it  shall  be  suggested  and  thought  proper. 

If  you  think  the  publication  of  the  work,  will  do  me  an  injury  with 
the  public,  I  beg  you  to  tell  me  so,  without  any  fear  of  wounding  my 
feelings.  I  am  so  far  from  being  in  love  with  it  myself,  that  I  should 
be  glad  of  a  decent  retreat  from  the  undertaking.  I  confide  implicitly 
in  your  frankness  and  friendship, — and  beg  you  to  believe  me,  dear 
sir,  with  the  greatest  respect  and  affection, 

Your  friend  and  servant, 

WM.  WIRT. 


4'  THOMAS   JEFFERSON   TO   WILLIAM   WIRT. 

MONTICELLO,  September  4,  1816. 
DEAR  SIR  : 

I  have  read,  with  great  delight,  the  portion  of  the  history  of  Mr. 
Henry  which  you  have  been  so  kind  as  to  favour  me  with,  and  which 
is  now  returned.  And  I  can  say,  from  my  own  knowledge  of  the 
contemporary  characters  introduced  into  the  canvass,  that  you  have 
given  them  quite  as  much  lustre  as  themselves  would  have  asked. 
/  The  exactness,  too,  of  your  details  has,  in  several  instances,  corrected 
the  errors  in  my  own  recollections,  where  they  had  begun  to  falter. 

In  result,  I  scarcely  find  anything  needing  revisal ;  yet,  to  show 
you  that  I  have  scrupulously  sought  occasions  of  animadversion,  I 
will  particularize  the  following  passages,  which  I  noted  as  I  read  them. 

Page  11 :  I  think  this  passage  had  better  be  moderated.  That 
Mr.  Henry  read  Livy  through  once  a  year  is  a  known  impossibility 
with  those  who  knew  him.  He  may  have  read  him  once,  and 
some  general  history  of  Greece ;  but  certainly  not  twice.  A  first 
reading  of  a  book  he  could  accomplish  sometimes  and  on  some  sub 
jects,  but  never  a  second.  He  knew  well  the  geography  of  his  own 
country,  but  certainly  never  made  any  other  his  study.  So,  as  to  our 
ancient  charters ;  he  had  probably  read  those  in  Stith's  history ;  but 
no  man  ever  more  undervalued  chartered  titles  than  himself.  He 
drew  all  natural  rights  from  a  purer  source — the  feelings  of  his  own 
breast.  ****** 

He  never,  in  conversation  or  debate,  mentioned  a  hero,  a  worthy, 
or  a  fact  in  Greek  or  Roman  history,  but  so  vaguely  and  loosely  as  to 
leave  room  to  back  out,  if  he  found  he  had  blundered. 

The  study  and  learning  ascribed  to  him,  in  this  passage,  would  be 
inconsistent  with  the  excellent  and  just  picture  given  of  his  indolence 
through  the  rest  of  the  work. 

Page  33,  line  4  :  Inquire  further  into  the  fact  alleged  that  Henry 
was  counsel  for  Littl.epage.  I  am  much  persuaded  he  was  counsel  for 
Dandridge.  There  was  great  personal  antipathy  between  him  and 
Littlepage,  and  the  closest  intimacy  with  Dandridge,  who  was  his 


CHAP.  XXII.]  CORRESPONDENCE  WITH  JEFFERSON.  863 

near  neighbour,  in  whose  house  he  was  at  home  as  one  of  the  family, 
whp  was  his  earliest  and  greatest  admirer  and  patron,  and  whose 
daughter  became,  afterwards,  his  second  wife. 

It  was  in  his  house  that,  during  a  course  of  Christmas  festivities,  I 
first  became  acquainted  with  Mr.  Henry.  This,  it  is  true,  is  but  pre 
sumptive  evidence,  and  may  be  over-ruled  by  direct  proof.  But  1 
am  confident  he  could  never  have  undertaken  any  case  against  Dan- 
dridge ;  considering  the  union  of  their  bosoms,  it  would  have  been  a 
great  crime.*  ****** 

Accept  the  assurance  of  my  constant  friendship  and  respect. 

TH.  JEFFERSON. 

In  a  reply  to  this  letter,  Wirt,  in  sending  Mr.  Jefferson  some  addi 
tional  portions  of  the  book,  remarks : — 

"  I  can  tell  you,  with  very  great  sincerity,  that  you  have  removed  a 
mountain-load  of  despondency  from  my  mind,  by  the  assurance  that 
you  could  find  entertainment  in  these  sheets. 

t(  I  entreat  you  not  to  spare  your  remarks  on  account  of  the  deface 
ment  of  the  manuscript.  I  had  rather  commence  it  de  novo  than 
lose  the  advantage  of  your  freest  criticisms.  If  you  think  the  narra 
tive  too  wire-drawn,  or  the  style  too  turgid — points  about  which  I 
have,  myself,  strong  fears — I  depend  on  your  friendship  to  tell  me  so. 
Much  better  will  it  be  to  learn  it  from  you,  in  time  to  correct  it,  than 
from  the  malignity  of  reviewers,  when  it  shall  be  too  late." 

Some  weeks  after  this,  he  wrote  the  following : 


WILLIAM   WIRT   TO   THOMAS   JEFFERSON. 

RICHMOND,  October  23,  1816. 
DEAR  SIR: 

I  now  submit  to  you  the  last  sheets  of  my  Sketches  of  Mr.  Henry, 
which  I  am  sorry  to  find  more  numerous  than  I  expected ;  and  I  pray 
you  to  forgive  the  great  trouble  which  I  am  sincerely  ashamed  of 
having  imposed  on  you. 

Your  remarks  have  been  of  great  service  to  me,  not  only  by 
enabling  me  to  correct  mistakes  in  fact,  but  by  putting  me  on  a 
severe  inquisition  of  my  style,  which,  I  am  perfectly  aware,  is  too 
prone  to  exuberance. 

I  am  afraid  that  the  whole  plan  is  too  loose,  and  the  narrative  too 
diffuse.  Has  it  struck  you  in  this  light,  and  do  you  think  it  would 
gain,  in  point  of  animation  and  interest,  by  retrenchment  and  com 
pression  ? 

*  There  were  other  corrections,  of  minor  errors,  suggested  in  this  lettei, 
which  are  omitted. 


364  THE  BIOGRAPHY  OF  HENRY.  [1815—1816. 

I  have  another  question  to  ask,  to  which  I  entreat  an  unreserved 
answer ;  and  I  hope  you  think  too  well  of  my  understanding  to  sup 
pose  that  I  shall  be  hurt  by  the  answer,  whatever  it  may  be.  Wo*uld 
you,  as  a  friend,  advise  me  to  publish  this  book,  or  not  ? 

It  has  been  written  under  circumstances  so  extremely  disadvan- 
tageous,  amid  such  perpetual  interruptions  arising  from  my  profession 
— at  almost  every  step,  too,  invita  minerva, — and  I  peruse  it  myself 
with  so  little  satisfaction,  that  I  am  seriously  apprehensive  it  may 
make  shipwreck  of  what  little  reputation  I  possess  as  a  writer. 

I  am  not  obliged  to  publish ;  and  I  shall  be  governed,  on  this  head, 
by  the  advice  of  my  friends,  who  must,  from  the  nature  of  things,  be 
much  better  qualified  to  judge  of  the  subject  than  I  am.  They,  I 
hope  and  believe,  think  too  justly  of  me  to  withhold  the  expression 
of  their  opinions  from  motives  of  delicacy. 

Your  repose  shall  never  be  endangered  by  any  act  of  mine,  if  I  can 
help  it.  Immediately  on  the  receipt  of  your  last  letter,  and  before 
the  manuscript  had  met  any  other  eye,  I.  wrote  over  again  the  whole 
passage  relative  to  the  first  Congress,  omitting  the  marks  of  quotation, 
and  removing  your  name  altogether  from  the  communication. 

If  there  be  any  other  passage  for  which  I  have  quoted  you,  and 
which  you  think  may  provoke  the  strictures  of  malice  or  envy,  I  beg 
that  you  will  be  so  good  as  to  suggest  it.  I  am  conscious  of  having 
made  a  very  free  use  of  your  communications.  It  was  natural  for  me 
to  seek  to  give  this  value  to  my  work.  But  it  would  be  most  painful 
to  me  to  be,  in  any  manner,  instrumental  in  subjecting  you  to  the  re 
newed  attacks  of  your  political  enemies.  It  is  not  enough  for  me 
that  you  despise  these  attacks :  I  have  no  right,  much  less  have  I  the 
disposition,  to  make  this  call  upon  your  fortitude.  And,  besides,  the 
shaft  which  cannot  reach  you,  never  fails  to  wound  and  irritate  your 
friends.  This  was  one  of  the  leading  causes  which  made  me  anxious 
to  submit  my  manuscript  to  you  first. 

Quere. — Have  I  not  quoted  some  passages  from  you,  of  which  the 
descendants  of  our  landed  aristocracy  may  take  it  into  their  heads 
to  complain? 

This  did  not  occur  to  me  till  Mr.  William  H.  Cabell  (than  whom 
you  have  not  a  warmer  friend)  made  the  suggestion.  I  have  great 
dependence  on  his  judgment  j  and  if  the  matter  occurs  to  you  in  the 
same  light,  I  will  send  up  again  the  sheets  which  contain  those  quota 
tions,  and  get  the  favour  of  you  to  alter  them  to  your  own  taste. 

You  will  perceive  that  I  have  borne  very  lightly  on  the  errors  of 
Mr.  Henry's  declining  years.  He  did  as  much  good  in  his  better 
days ;  and  no  evils  have  resulted  from  his  later  aberrations.  "Will 
not  his  biographer,  then,  be  excusable  in  drawing  the  veil  over  them, 
and  holding  up  the  brighter  side  of  his  character,  only,  to  imitation  ? 
Most  respectfully  and  affectionately, 

Your  friend  and  servant, 

WM.  WIRT. 


CHAP.  XXII.]      MR.  JEFFERSON'S  OPINION  OF  IT.  365 

THOMAS  JEFFERSON  TO  WILLIAM   WIRT. 

POPLAR  FOREST,  November  12,  1816. 
DEAR  SIR  : 

Yours  of  October  23d,  was  received  here  on  the  31st,  with  the  last 
sheets  of  your  work. 

They  found  me  engaged  in  a  business  which  could  not  be  postponed, 
and  have  therefore  been  detained  longer  than  I  wished. 

)  On  the  subject  of  our  ancient  aristoracy,  I  believe  I  have  said 
nothing  which  all  who  knew  them  will  not  confirm,  and  which  their 
reasonable  descendants  may  not  learn  from  every  quarter.  It  was 
the  effect  of  the  large  accumulation  of  property  under  the  law  of 
entails. 

The  suppression  of  entails  reduced  the  spirit  of  the  rich,  while  the 
increased  influence  given  by  the  new  government  to  the  people,  raised 
theirs,  and  brought  things  to  their  present  level,  from  a  condition 
which  the  present  generation,  who  have  not  seen  it,  can  scarcely  be 
lieve  or  conceive. 

You  ask  if  I  think  your  work  would  be  the  better  of  retrench 
ment  ?  By  no  means.  I  have  seen  nothing  in  it  which  could  be 
retrenched  but  to  disadvantage.  And  again,  whether,  as  a  friend,  I 
would  advise  its  publication  ?  On  that  question,  I  have  no  hesitation 
— on  your  own  acccount,  as  well  as  that  of  the  public.  To  the  latter, 
it  will  be  valuable ;  and  honourable  to  yourself. 

You  must  expect  to  be  criticised ;  and,  by  a  former  letter  I  see  you 
expect  it.  By  the  Quarterly  Reviewers  you  will  be  hacked  and  hewed, 
with  tomahawk  and  scalping-knife.  Those  of  Edinburgh,  with  the 
same  anti- American  prejudices,  but  sometimes  considering  us  as  allies 
against  their  administration,  will  do  it  more  decently. 

They  will  assume,  as  a  model  for  biography,  the  familiar  manner 
of  Plutarch,  or  scanty  matter  of  Nepos,  and  try  you,  perhaps,  by  these 
tests.  But  they  can  only  prove  that  your  style  is  different  from 
theirs ;  not  that  it  is  not  good. 

I  have  always  very  much  despised  the  artificial  canons  of  criticism. 
When  I  have  read  a  work  in  prose  or  poetry,  or  seen  a  painting,  a 
statue,  etc.,  I  have  only  asked  myself  whether  it  gives  me  pleasure, 
whether  it  is  animating,  interesting,  attaching  ?  If  it  is,  it  is  good 
for  these  reasons.  On  these  grounds  you  will  be  safe.  Those  who 
'take  up  your  book,  will  find  they  cannot  lay  it  down;  and  this  will 
be  its  best  criticism. 

You  have  certainly  practised  vigorously  the  precept  of  (( de  mortuis 
nil  nisi  bonurn."  This  presents  a  very  difficult  question, — whether 
one  only  or  both  sides  of  the  medal  should  be  presented.  It  consti 
tutes,  perhaps,  the  distinction  between  panegyric  and  history.  On  this, 
opinions  are  much  divided — and,  perhaps,  may  be  so  on  this  feature 
of  your  work.  On  the  whole,  however,  you  have  nothing  to  fear ;  at 
least,  if  my  views  arc  not  very  different  from  the  common.  And  no 


366  LETTERS  TO  POPE  AND  MORRIS.          [1815—1816 

one  will  see  its  appearance  with  more  pleasure  than  myself,  as  no  one 
can,  with  more  truth,  give  you  assurances  of  great  respect  and  affec 
tionate  attachment. 

TH.  JEFFERSON. 

I  close  this  chapter  with  two  letters,  in  part  referring  to  the  bio 
graphy.  The  first  is  to  Mr.  Pope ;  the  other  to  an  esteemed  friend 
in  Hanover  county,  whose  taste  and  accomplishments  rendered  him 
a  most  competent  critic  upon  the  subjects  to  which  it  refers.  They 
both  give  us  an  insight  into  the  author's  apprehension  of  the  perils 
to  which  he  was  about  to  expose  himself  by  the  publication  of  his 
book. 

TO  WILLIAM  POPE. 

RICHMOND,  September  24,  1816. 
MY  DEAR  FRIEND  : 

Although  over  my  head  in  business,  I  cannot  receive,  in  silence, 
your  affectionate  letter  of  the  12th.  I  have  been  hitherto  very  un 
grateful, — in  appearance,  though  not  in  feeling  and  in  fact, — for  those 
effusions  of  friendship  with  which  you  have  honoured  me  by  mail ; 
but  I  have  relied  on  your  indulgence  and  forgiveness,  knowing  as  you 
do  how  my  head  is  kept  spinning  by  the  multiplicity  and  variety  of 
my  engagements;  and  I  have  relied,  too,  on  your  knowledge  of  the 
true  state  of  my  sentiments  towards  you,  to  prevent  any  unfriendly 
conclusions  from  apparent  neglect.  For  you  know  that  my  affections 
can  never  neglect  you  ;  you  know  that  of  all  the  mortals  I  have  ever 
encountered  in  this  pilgrimage,  you  are  "  the  Israelite  without  guile," 
and  the  tenant  of  my  heart's  core ;  so  why  should  we  say  more  upon 
this  subject  ? 

I  am  extremely  gratified  by  the  pleasure  you  express,  in  reading 
those  pages  of  my  manuscript.  I  am  dashing  on,  and  hope  to  close 
my  toils  before  the  10th  of  next  month.  Many  a  weary  league  have 
I  travelled  with  old  Patrick.  I  wish  my  readers  may  be  willing  to 
travel  after  me;  for,  in  truth,  "I  don't  think  it  clever,  much;"  and 
if  they  are  only  half  as  much  fatigued  in  reading  as  I  have  been  in 
writing  it,  adieu  to  Lochaber ! — "  Othello's  occupation  ;s  gone  !"  As 
for  you  and  Bullock  and  Clarke,  (for  Clarke  has  been  here,  too,  with 
swimming  eyes,)  you  are  all  so  partial  to  the  subject  and  the  writer, 
that  there  is  no  forming  any  conclusions  as  to  the  probable  opinion 
of  the  world,  from  your  feelings.  "In  this  cold  world  of  ours,"  as 
the  song  goes,  I  must  expect  a  very  different  reception,  —  captious 
criticism  and  a  predisposition  to  find  fault.  But  the  die  will  soon  be 
finally  cast,  and  we  shall  know  our  fate  with  certainty.  As  to  J.  T  , 
I  shall  do  my  duty,  and  let  him  do  his  worst.  Patrick  shall  have  jus 
tice,  if  I  can  give  it  to  him,  let  who  will  be  offended, — and  after  that, 
"the  hardest  must  fend  off." 

I  wish  I  could  accompany  you  to  see  the  two  generals : — they  are 


CHAP.  XXII.]      LETTERS  TO  POPE  AND  MORRIS.  367 

both  favourites  with  me, — but  I  must  decline  all  visiting  for  this  fall. 
Business  first,  and  then  pleasure,  is  my  maxim.  And  this  same 
biography  has  encroached  so  much  on  my  professional  duties,  that  I 
shall  be  hard  put  to  it  to  bring  up  the  lee-way.  But  as  to  our  trips 
to  Norfolk  and  Washington,  I  shall  call  upon  you  to  keep  your  pro 
mise  when  the  time  comes.  I  wish  I  may  not  then  find  you  "  a  fairy 
promisor  of  joy."  If  we  live  till  next  fall,  and  all  is  well,  I  hope 
we  shall  be  able  to  make  out  a  visit  to  our  friend  Dabney  Carr  in 
Winchester.  What  say  you  to  that  ?  Think  of  the  grandeur  of  the 
mountains,  and  the  fertility  of  the  valleys,  and  the  transparency  of 
the  limestone  water,  and  of  the  pleasure  our  friends  there  will  have 
in  seeing  us.  Dabney  and  Frank  Grilmer,  Henry  Tucker's  long 
chin,  and  Hugh  Holmes'  wide  mouth,  not  forgetting  those  thick  lips 
of  his,  employed  in  singing  the  celebrated  old  English  ballad  of  "  The 
pigs/'  &c. 

We  are  all  well,  except  our  infant,  who  has  been  very  sick,  but 
thank  Heaven,  is  now  nearly  restored.  My  wife  and  children  unite 
with  me  in  affectionate  compliments  to  Mrs.  P.,  Lucy  Ann,  and  your 
self;  and  I  am,  as  I  ever  have  been,  "your  loving  friend  till  death 
us  do  part."  WM.  WIRT. 

WILLIAM  WIRT    TO   RICHARD    MORRIS,   ESQ. 

RICHMOND,  January  19,  1817. 

"  You  are  heartily  welcome,  brother  Shandy,  though  it  were  twice 
as  much :" — but  are  you  not  a  shabby  fellow,  to  return  the  manu 
script,  without  aiding  me  with  a  single  criticism  ?  If  I  thought  you 
considered  me  so  paltry  a  fellow  as  to  be  wounded  by  the  strictures 
of  my  friends,  I  should  renounce  you  extempore.  I  will  not  permit 
myself  to  suspect  this,  because  it  would  pain  me  much  if  one  who 
knows  me  so  well  should  think  so  ill  both  of  my  modesty  and  under 
standing. 

Sir,  had  you  appealed  to  my  friendship  in  a  like  case,  I  would  have 
given  it  to  you,  "hip  and  thigh."  "  Your  book,"  I  would  have  said, 
sir,  (if  I  had  thought  so)  "  may  do  well  enough  in  Virginia,  where 
the  subject  itself  has  interest  enough  to  keep  your  chin  above  the 
water :  but  in  other  states,  and  more  especially  in  foreign  parts,  I 
doubt  you  will  be  damned.  You  have  not  the  style  of  narrative  — 
your  manner  is  not  familiar  and  easy  enough — your  sentences  rickety 
and  stiff-jointed; — besides,  there  are  too  frequent  efforts  to  give  im 
portance  to  trifles.  You  will  pardon  me,  but  your  book  abounds  with 
many  striking  specimens  of  the  false  sublime; — your  incidents  are, 
not  detailed  with  sufficient  spirit ; — they  are  frequently  encumbered 
with  a  quantity  of  trite  historical  lumber,  which  causes  the  narrative 
to  drag,  and  the  reader  to  yawn.  We  lose  sight  of  Henry  in  wading 
through  your  marshes.  The  speeches  that  you  give  as  his,  contradict 
your  own  pompous  descriptions  of  his  eloquence.  Upon  the  whole, 
T  must  confess  that  I  was  painfully  disappointed  in  your  work ; — thero 


368  HIS  COMPLAINT  OF  HIS  FRIENDS.        [1815-1816. 

are  parts  of  it,  to  be  sure,  which  gratified  me, — but  as  a  whole,  trust 
me,  it  is  but  a  poor  thing — and  neither  calculated  to  advance  the  fame 
of  the  author  or  of  his  hero."  And  then,  sir,  I  would  have  proceeded 
to  give  specifications  of  these  charges.  For  instance : — "  page  40, 
paragraph  the  2d  : — much  ado  about  nothing — it  sounds  to  me  very 
much  like  nonsense." — "  Page  60 — paragraph  the  1st : — this  is  in 
tended  for  pathos — the  Dutch  pronounce  the  word  Jathos,"  &c.,  &c. 
"  Finally,  sir,  my  advice  to  you,  as  a  friend,  is  not,  to  publish  the 
book ;  believe  me,  it  will  rob  you  even  of  the  little  standing  you  have, 
and  cheapen  both  Mr.  Henry  and  yourself  in  the  public  estimation." 
This  is  the  way,  sir,  I  should  have  treated  you — and  I  should  have 
expected  you  to  cry  "thank'e?"  at  every  slash  of  my  surgical  knife. 

Now,  Morris,  whether  you  will  believe  me  or  not,  the  hypothetic 
strictures  which  I  have  just  made,  are,  in  sober  sadness,  the  very  re 
marks  to  which  I  fear  my  book  is  liable.  Yet  no  one  will  tell  me  so, 
till  I  read  them  in  some  review.  From  those  of  my  friends  who  are 
more  remarkable  for  warm  and  affectionate  hearts  than  acuteness  of 
intellect,  I  look  naturally  for  eulogium  only;  and  I  have  not  been 
disappointed — their  partiality  for  me  blinding  them  to  the  faults  of 
the  work.  Even  from  friends  of  greater  acuteness,  I  should  not  be 
surprised  if  a  false  and  unkind  delicacy  for  my  feelings,  should  dis 
pose  them  to  conceal  their  objections.  But  you  are  one  of  those  men 
from  whose  sturdier  and  nobler  cast  both  of  friendship  and  character, 
I  expected  to  hear  the  naked  truth,  with  all  the  frankness,  and  even 
blunt-ness,  of  Kent  in  Shakspeare's  Lear.  Instead  of  which,  you 
come  out  upon  me  with  a  short  letter,  which,  to  be  sure,  is  most  kind 
and  obliging,  but  which  deals  in  generals^  and  gives  me  no  specific  in 
struction  whatever.  Sir,  you  are  not  to  escape  me  thus.  I  have  you 
up  before  the  court,  a  witness  upon  oath,  and  I  will  torture  you  by 
cross-examination  'till  I  get  the  whole  truth  out  of  you : — so  you  might 
as  well  let  it  come  at  once.  Cast  your  eyes,  then,  upon  the  aforesaid 
hypothetic  strictures,  wherein,  if  you  will  take  the  trouble  to  ana 
lyze,  you  will  discover  a  specification  of  my  own  doubts  and  fears  on 
this  subject.  Answer  me  to  these,  head  by  head,  on  the  oath  you 
have  taken  —  "  and  then  proceed  with  a  statement  of  all  you  know 
respecting  the  points  in  issue."  If  you  do  not  this,  I  shall  say  you 
are  no  better  than  you  should  be. 

Will  you  tender  to  Mrs.  Morris  my  affectionate  compliments — and 
request  her,  in  my  behalf,  to  make  you  answer  this  letter  as  early  as 
your  convenience  will  permit,  promising  her,  in  return,  that  though  / 
have  suffered  a  temporary  relapse  to  the  heresy  of  snuff-taking,  I  will 
not  give  you  a  pinch  without  her  consent. 

God  bless  you, 

WM.  WIRT. 

END  OF  VOL.  I. 


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